Too Lazy to Stay Awake, Too Active to Sleep
by Andy Magnuseth
Summary: An acid trip through a dying dream skerry. CROSSOVER with Sandman Comics. -The crossover submission was broken when I published this.-
1. Goodbye, Hello

"I can remember the title, author, and location of every book in this library, Matthew. Every book that's ever been _dreamed_. Every book that's ever been imagined. Every book that's ever been _lost_. Millions upon millions of them. _That's_ what _I_ remember. It's my _job_. Other things...I forget sometimes."

- Lucien; Neil Gaiman's The Sandman: The Kindly Ones

* * *

\\You Say Goodbye…\\

* * *

"I'm sorry, sir. There are just too many memories here for me to stay. I didn't come back just to watch things crumble." She sighed, curling in upon herself, avoiding his eyes. The poor girl focused instead on his glistening white outfit, a stark contrast to the person who she had admired.

"I suppose you're leaving too, then?" he sighed, rising from his chair. When she looked up again, he was offering her a card and a pair of bright new pink sneakers that seemed to match the color of the rest of her ragged outfit.

"What is…who else left?" she fumbled over her own words, taking the card and looking at it. A simple name was on the front, a sort of cover, and when she opened the card, she saw a picture of a small, lovely town full of color. A lanky man waved at her from the photograph, and she could hardly recognize if she remembered him or not.

"The librarian left too. He said nearly the same thing. But it was my idea to let him leave." He looked down, his white hair obstructing his eyes.

The simple little faerie looked up. "Why? Why did you send him off somewhere else? What about the library?" She blinked, looking at the sneakers. "…Never mind, I'd rather know what's with the sneakers."

"He had unfinished business concerning certain artifacts that were lost when the previous lord was trapped. As for the sneakers, they have just enough glamour to disguise you from being recognized." He placed the sneakers on the ground in front of her.

"Disguised? Why?" she questioned.

"You're going to Iceland."

"What? _Iceland_? But that's where most faeries and elves li-…"

"-_Precisely_. It's the best excuse, even if they notice you have faerie in you, they'll just assume you're another Halfling. Speaking of which, I believe you already have a legally established relative there which shall be taking parental responsibilities of you until you are of age…"

Slipping on the shoes, she blinked as she realized how light and springy they were. They almost made her long for the dancing of the midnight revels once again. When bits of hair drifted into her face, she noted the shocking pink.

"Is this your revenge for me asking to leave? This hair is ridiculous. Just because you're _entirely_ one color shouldn't mean that-"

"Pixie, you'll be spending most of your time with kids who are color-challenged anyway. One has orange square dreadlocks. Another woman has blue curly hair. Most of them wear all one color, and you'll be under legal parentage of someone who looks like a bald version of Colonel Mustard. _Trust_ me." He smiled, handing her a suitcase. "…You'll love it there. Here are your things. I'll send you as far as you need to go. Once you're there, I'll send you instructions."

"Instructions?" she quipped, doing a double-take. "For what, pray tell?"

"You didn't expect me to send you away without a mission, did you?"

The white-haired pale man gave her a wicked smirk as he waved his hand, sending her along the road to the waking world.

* * *

\\…and I Say Hello\\

* * *

I'm proud of this. This is my first LazyTown fanfiction.

We ARE getting to the LazyTown part.

I just needed this as an intro.

Copyrights: LTE for LazyTown, and Neil Gaiman and Vertigo for 'The Sandman'.


	2. Mixed Emotions

Kitty: I purposefully do not use his name too often or explain who he is in detail for reasons of A) Not spoiling future possible plot; and B) Not spoiling the ending of the series for those who haven't read it yet. If you want to know, I'll tell you privately. And yes, this will make sense. I'm just writing it like one would write another Sandman volume. Except this time its set in LazyTown, isn't that nifty?

* * *

"Identity blurs on the moon's road."

-Neil Gaiman's "The Sandman: A Game of You"

* * *

\\Pools of sorrow, waves of joy…\\

* * *

Glamoured in all the pink of a peony, the pixie danced along the road of dreams, the rift between the dreaming and the waking, spinning around in circles and swinging the suitcase around her in great arcs. Music followed her everywhere, from all sides. She wondered if it was her imagination, but it seemed that the colors had gotten brighter as she followed the road. When her feet finally touched the ground (for she had been walking on the sands of dream-stuff, and not the true ground at all), she opened the card once again.

"_In the front pocket of your suitcase I have included all legal documents you will need on the trip."_ The note began. _"I wrote on the front of the card your human name so as not to call attention to who you are. To spare you any grief, I also went through the liberty of packing multiple pink outfits, as well as a diary so you may inform me constantly of the goings-on. I insist that this not fall into the wrong hands, lest someone else see my words upon the pages and find out your true nature. You'll have everything else you need when you contact Mayor Milford Meanswell, who just coincidentally happens to legally be your Uncle now. Lucky you. Stay as long as you like, but I will only allow you to return if you finish your mission. I wish you luck, and hope that you make many new friends."_

She slowly turned the card to look at the front again.

Embossed on the front in bright pink stylized lettering was the name Stephanie.

She blinked.

"Stephanie. My name's Stephanie…" she tried it out, rolling the different syllables over her tongue, and finding the pronunciation she liked best. "…Hello, my name is Stephanie. Could you show me to the Mayor's office, please?"

She was ready.

As she looked through the town, she was rather confused. The place was almost desolate, and for all its bright cheer, she saw not a soul to fill the empty void. The only comfort was a telescopic lens.

"_Smile for the camera…"_ she thought, bearing a grin, _"…at least I'm not alone…maybe it's a TV show? Oh, there's the mayor." _Her grin brightened, and she bounded towards the man. Best to make a good first impression as a happy little girl.

"Hello Stephanie, Oh, over here, Stephanie!" He waved to her.

"Hi, Uncle Milford!" She greeted back warmly, overjoyed to find that the Mayor was so nice.

"There you are, Stephanie!" The Mayor responded happily when she had walked up to him. They embraced in a cheery hug, and she was pleased to find that he smelled of cookies and citrus cleaning products. She liked him already.

"I'm so glad to be here!"

"And I'm so glad to have you! Oh, we'll have a wonderful time…how was your trip?" he asked her. She blinked, and mentally told herself that as long as she didn't tell him directly how she got there, she wasn't lying.

"Oh, it was alright. I like trains." She told him, remembering a trip she took with the original dream lord through the dreaming on a train.

"I'll take your suitcases, then…" he spoke, reaching for the handle…

"NO!" She shouted, remembering what she was told, "…It's okay; I got 'em!" she said, picking up the very light suitcases. She didn't need to be discovered so easily.

* * *

/Meanwhile, miles underground…/

* * *

The thin figure watched the girl through the telescopic lens. He wasn't blind to her faerie glamour, and he had become very suspicious.

"Well, THIS could mean trouble…" he muttered to himself. He knew full well who she was. He just didn't know why she was sent. And for what reason. He settled for pacing the cold, steel underground.

* * *

/Back at the Mayor's house…/

* * *

"Wow, Uncle! This is a nice place you have here!" she said, admiring the kitchen. She remembered the few times he had been allowed in the kitchen of the dreaming, but it had been much too big for her to stand. She had settled for cleaning up afterward instead of cooking after a few failed experiments with some daisy cookies, one of her own recipes. "I think I'll like it here…"

She soon realized that the smell was real, and not just a memory of the failed experiment with those cookies. "…What's that smell?"

"Oh-oh dear, oh…" the rotund man in the yellow suit scurried to the oven, opening it just to have a curtain of gray smoke billow out into his face. Needless to say, he was dejected. "Oh. Oh dear, I was baking a cake for Ms. Busybody, but I think I might just be making a mess for myself…"

"Ms. Busybody?" she asked herself, remembering a chubby blue-haired woman who had visited the dreaming a week ago demanding a visit to the top of the Eiffel Tower privately. "Yuck."

"Um, why don't I show you to your room?" he asked. As she left the room, she noticed that he had closed the oven door on an already burnt cake, all while having the oven still on 350. She twitched her foot to the left as they were leaving the room, using just enough power to shut off the oven. The little pixie girl was surprised that he hadn't burnt the place down already.

"This is your room!" he said, when they had entered.

"Wow…" she gasped when she saw the window with a butter sprite flower in the window. She didn't know there were any butter sprites left, and she thought of how nice it would be to live with a fellow faery creature, even if it was bound to a flower.

"Make yourself at home and take a rest…" the Mayor told her, getting ready to leave. She could have sworn he had said 'yourselves', but brushed it off as her mind playing tricks on her.

"Oh, but Uncle Milford, I'm not tired!"

"Really?" he questioned, surprised.

"Really! In fact, I was kinda hoping to play now…" she looked outside hopefully, remembering the music she had heard on the walk here.

"Oh! Well, uh, here ya go!" he spoke, handing her a deck of cards.

"Playing cards?" she muttered in disgust questioningly, looking at him with a hurt expression.

"Have a nice summer!" he told her, waving and leaving the room.

She sat down on the bed, dejected. Looking at the card she had been given before her trip, she slipped it in with the other luggage, and settled for building a tower of cards.

No news from the new Sandman.

* * *

\\...Are drifting through my open mind\\

* * *

Okay, so this is about halfway through the first episode. I do it this way so it doesn't seem unprofessional. And this way, once you find out exactly WHO I compare certain characters to, you'll watch the episodes again and again comparing the episodes to the fanfic, going "OMG IT IS TRUE!"

And it will be a very lovely joke for me.

Because people will think you're nuts until you show them the fanfic.


	3. Mirror Maze

I'm SO SORRY I was gone for so long, usually I update these faster than you can blink, but I fell into my own cycle of laziness when I got sick, and a business trip further alienated me from the story. By the time I realized that I hadn't written the next part, a couple of weeks had already passed. I'M SO SORRY! T.T

* * *

"_The process was slow at first, my lord. Things in the dream world began to transmute. I was aware of it in my library... Slowly, the words began to fade. Some time after you vanished, my books became bound volumes of blank paper. The next day the whole library was gone. I never found it again..."_

-Lucien; THE SANDMAN: Imperfect Hosts.

* * *

\\I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad…\\

* * *

The various pipes were a labyrinth of sorts.

Exactly what he needed.

He remembered, long ago, the truth of labyrinths. They were all one. Every labyrinth met in the center.

The lanky man entered the maze of pipes with no difficulty at all. A left. A right. Another turn. Slowly the sloped concaved walls would change. It was agonizing work. Eight more turns brought him to a hedge maze. He took a left, spotting the occasional odd statue. More turns. He found himself in mist, and he broke through to a clearing of trees. As he crosses one last bridge, he finds himself in the land of Destiny. A dead, ethereal sun hangs low and red in the distance.

The librarian is stricken to find two Destinies in front of him. Both are chained to the same book, written in a language that none of the present parties could understand, and one was missing an eye, dark lines of maroon where scarring was visible on his face where it wasn't covered by the hood. The other was also chained to a chalkboard.

"Destiny?" the librarian questioned, standing at an equal height to both of them.

"We cannot help you." The one with the missing eye spoke.

The other was silent, save for the slight squeak of chalk. The board was then handed to the librarian.

_"I have sacrificed my voice for your safety. I'd appreciate if you not waste this opportunity. The one who I am chained to is only a facsimile. I use him as my voice in the horrendous possibility that Daniel pays us a visit. Seeing as he has none of the powers or personal relations of the previous Dream, he does not notice."_

"I'm so sorry. I did not know."

"Pray that you never will know the extent of that wish, Lucien." The Destiny with the missing eye whispered.

"My name is Robbie Rotten." He told them before leaving. Both Destinies smiled as they watched him depart.

* * *

\\...The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had\\

* * *

I'm sorry this chapter is so short, but A) It's agonizing for me to watch episodes of Lazytown just to rewrite them without showing any other sides of the story, and B) I'm pretty sure that you would have been just as irritated with a rewrite of all the eps. That's just lazy, and defeats the purpose of fanfiction. Also C) I was going to steer away from the episodes later in the story anyway, and it doesn't make any sense to use whole episodes and then force the plot up the back end of the story. Very confusing. D) I REALLY REALLY wanted an excuse to link this to other, future and/or uncompleted stories. I have a Clamp obsession, and by golly if it won't make itself known.

E) The next chapter will be much quicker, since it's starting to melt more into Robbie/Lucien's point of view.


	4. Love Lockdown in LazyTown

Cat Lady: Well, it has been quite an eventful- and long- period of time. I do have pieces written on paper, but as for now, all my computer manuscripts have fallen prey to a vicious computer virus that can only be known as HATRED. I won't go into details, for the world of LazyTown is one of joy and wonders and magicalness, one so innocent that it cannot be tainted by the slings and arrows of reality.

But I will be so bold as to point out that Neil Gaiman and Magnús Scheving have the same birthday. Which I highly suspected- but actually did not find out until AFTER I started this story. Leaving their fates- and stories- forever intertwined in the lost library of the Dreaming.

Oh- and for some reason, I can no longer access LT Streaming. Which means it will now be a monumental pain each and every time I want to write a chapter based on an episode. But I have inspiration for a new story after suddenly being plunged into slasher FILMS again. I keep forgetting that there's a huge difference between boyxboy slash and horror slash, so every time I hear the words "Freddy VS Jason", I crack up. Here's a tip for what to look for in any upcoming LazyTown fanfics of mine- Have you ever thought of what it would be like if Robbie died young? And if- BECAUSE this happened- Sportacus ended up being a serial killer instead?

Ugh. This beginning is entirely too long, I humbly apologize. I also beg forgiveness that I will be playing the rest of this fanfic by ear on the episodes until I can manage to find more online episodes on youtube or something. I'M SO SORRY I HAVEN'T WRITTEN IN FOREVER!

* * *

"On reflection, while I cannot give you the thing itself, I could give you a dream of my love."

"I already have that, my lord."

-Dream and Nuala, in The Kindly Ones.

* * *

\\...I can't remember but it's alright, a-alright...\\

* * *

The last moments replayed in her head, and as she recalled the crushing disappointment she felt as she realized that it was her fault that he was unsafe- that he must die because she was selfish enough to use the last boon that Morpheus had bestowed upon the gem necklace she had been given to force him out of safety just to see him again- to confess her unrequited love...

Stephanie's house of cards came tumbling down as Milford Meanswell entered the room. The one she had been building all day. It was actually more of an Eiffel Tower than a house. And Milford ruined it with his clumsy way of opening doors, thrusting it open like one would if kicking it down to escape a burning building. And so she nearly forgot what she was thinking about altogether.

She decided to ask questions about LazyTown and if there were other kids and where in Heaven's name they all were when it was a perfectly fine day outside, and any halfway-normal kid in his right mind would be outside playing. This resulted in the most ridiculous answer.

"Nobody does that."

Well, if nobody did that, then why would she be mentioning it now?

Stephanie tried her luck outside, but only came across a blonde boy with a big lollipop and some taffy.

"Hello, I'm Stephanie!" she tried, waving to him. Almond-shaped blue eyes and a pudgy face looked up at her blankly for a second before holding up a piece of taffy.

"My name is Ziggy. Want a piece?" he smiled at her almost wolfishly, and she declined immediately. She didn't expect any 7-year-old to ever smile like that. How appropriate that his parents had the nerve to name their kid after one of David Bowie's many alter-egos.

"Do you just sit here and eat candy all day?" she asked.

"Pretty much, yeah."

So much for that conversation.

She came across two children fighting, one looked like Toni Basil straight out of her "Hey Mickey" video, and the other looked like a mini Ryan Seacrest in a yellow suit. Stephanie couldn't tell what they were fighting about, but they weren't even playing anything together. She took a quick glance at them, then scurried off. No need to get involved in something that wasn't her problem to begin with- it might make it worse. The pink-haired ex-fae slid by unnoticed- she would make a note to learn about them before trying to pry them apart- if it was a childhood crush, she didn't want to ruin anything. A sudden thought drifting back to her own crush slid from her mind and broke into fragments when she found herself face-to-face with a very tall, very pointy house with a gigantic satellite sticking out of it.

"YIKES! Who in the Dickens lives HERE...? Invader Zim? Goodness, I hope not!" Stephanie looked around the front, searching for any sort of pink pufferfish ornaments or lawn gnomes with lazer beams that were going to try to vaporize her. None in sight- she was in luck. Stepping forward, she knocked bravely on the floor, peeking through the window. "Oh- a computer nerd. I guess that makes sense. Looks kinda messy- typical bachelor pad mess..."

Her thoughts were disrupted when she heard a happy voice shout, "Come in," and she opened the door, only to find a young version of Moby, a snowboarder who often could be found in the Dreaming's Library looking for books on werewolf antiserums. He had the same sun-bleached gold-orange dreadlocks, technological headgear, and baggy pants. It also helped that his skin and eyes could be described as a fine chocolate. "Could you hold on a second? I'm in the middle of this lev-....." The boy practically froze in place when he caught the very sight of her.

"Hi! I'm Stephanie..." she waved to him, her arm being nudged to the side when the other kids from the neighborhood rushed in, making themselves at home.

"Sorry we're late, Trixie was in front of MY car..." The yellow-suited Seacrest boy sat on the couch with a bowl of popcorn. Trixie, the Toni Basil look-alike, rolled her eyes before she looked at the TV screen.

"Pixel, you're losing!" She pointed out angrily, taking some of the popcorn before the selfish boy could notice.

"It's okay....." Pixel said, to which the boy in yellow asked Trixie if it really was, not believing his ears. This resulted in him noticing her with his popcorn, and the two got in a hand-smacking fight, spilling half the popcorn. There were shouts of 'Stingy, now look what you did,' and 'It was your fault Trixie,' moments before Pixel finally snapped out of his trance and introduced himself to Stephanie, who was hoping her glamour wasn't to blame for his odd behavior. It probably was.

"I'm Pixel- What's that you're holding?" He pointed at the soccer ball that she had forgotten she was even carrying. This gave Stephanie a chance- maybe NOW they would want to play something outside with her- she was bored out of her mind.

"It's a soccer ball!" she pronounced with probably more enthusiasm than she should have used, "Do any of you want to play soccer with me now?"

"Thats what we're doing, Pinkie!" Trixie pointed at the TV screen.

"No, I mean outside!" The ex-faery sighed, shook her head, and spoke as if she was explaining something to children half their age- "Don't you ever play any games outside?"

They all shook their heads. No, they most certainly did NOT play outside.

"But- It's GREAT! Running and jumping in the fresh air-....." She realized for the first time that maybe that was only something faeries enjoyed. Still, it wasn't healthy for them to remain indoors continually. "Haven't you ever kicked a soccer ball before? Hit a baseball?" Stephanie was going to KILL the negligent parents of these children when she found them.

She decided she would SHOW them how much fun it was.

When Robbie Rotten finally made it back from his meeting in the garden, emerging from the labyrinth of pipes, the commotion he heard was NOT welcome. He opened the hatch of his silo/lair and emerged from the pipe gently, enraged that he was hearing fae song from a girl who was supposedly an EX-fae. He searched for her, with full intent on giving her a piece of his mind. That kind of thing was very distractingly cute around the dreaming library, when nobody was supposed to be looking, but THIS- This was not okay. Not one bit. Now it was for the children- people who couldn't appreciate her beauty.....

Oh. She was just trying to get them to play a game with her. Well, that was almost devious enough for him to understand. Still- why force the kids outside? They were fine inside- His domain was reading, which naturally made sports a sort of irritating endeavor for him. Even more irritating if people weren't reading BECAUSE of sports. Understandably there needed to be a balance- which he kept with ballroom dancing.....

This small compromise with health was the only thing that kept the soccer ball winding up in his hand instead of performing poor dentistry on his face. He elegantly rose like a phantom from behind the rusty door, holding up the ball with one hand. He smirked at the fae.

"Uh oh, it's Robbie Rotten!" One of the kids spoke.

"Who's that?" Stephanie asked, looking at the man. She was told that Lucien was here, but if this was Lucien- what in God's name happened to him? His hair was flattened down and considerably darker, his glasses were gone, his outfit hardly changed in style but it was now so tight that you could nearly see everything without having to.....She thought she was going to be sick, because it looked as if Lucien had suddenly turned Emo. The only thing that she could recognize him by was his height and his grey eyes, but even that- his eyes were crueler, almost darker. It was quite possibly the worst first impression ever.

Trixie piped up. "Oh, he's only the laziest, rottenest, no-do-ANYTHING spy in ALL of LazyTown!"

"Why THANK you! It took YEARS of practicing....." He chimed almost sarcastically, sighing internally. He played his role almost perfectly- nobody would care about him, and he would keep this from going any further.....He pointed at the soccer ball, "-What is THIS?"

"It's a soccer ball! We were playing-"

"Playing!?" he paused, then held out some candies to Ziggy, "You want some?"

"OOH! YES!" The boy jumped up and down, glee in his pale blue eyes.

"If I give it to you, will you GO AWAY?" The librarian snapped, pulling the candy away.

"I'm already gone!" as soon as Ziggy said this, he was given the candy and ran off.

"And lookie what else I have...A NEW VIDEO GAME!"

Stephanie sighed, irritated as the boy named Pixel ran off with it. As if his microwave-shaped computer could HANDLE six thousand levels.

"By the way, that video game was yours." He added quickly, looking at Stingy, who then ran after Pixel, screaming 'It's MINE'.

Finally Robbie looked at his nails and casually asked- "Have you ever heard the sound of a rubber ball breaking a window?" It was almost a statement.

"Nuh-uh-uh-uh......" Trixie said, shaking her head.

"Would you like to?" he grinned happily.

"WOULD I!" She cheered, and Robbie tossed her the ball.

"HEY!" Stephanie shouted, enraged. This was NOT Lucien. Lucien was kind, shy, and quiet. Sure, there was a side to him that only came out when he was pushed to the breaking point- no. No.

"You didn't stand a chance." He said it like a rude cheerleader would, a sad smile turning into half a smirk. "Now why don't you just sit quietly and do NOTHING like a good little girl?" The lithe man stormed off, and Stephanie rolled her eyes as she saw the hip-wiggle he seemed to have adopted since falling into this wasteland of a way-too-colorful town. She would get to the bottom of this.

Once it stopped making her so sad.

She sang to make herself feel better. It didn't.

So the ex-fae decided that now was the time to write in her diary.

_Dear Daniel,_

_Something is terribly wrong with Lucien. Everyone calls him Robbie Rotten. He looks like he fell into some sort of depression- his outfit is really tight and dark now- and his glasses are gone. He also changed his hair. It scares me, and he's acting really weird. Angry-like._

_It's as if he doesn't remember who he was._

_I await your orders._

_Stephanie_

"Hot chocolate, Stephanie?" Mayor Meanswell came in with a yellow cup.

Stephanie laughed. "No thanks, Uncle Milford." Idiot.

_PS- Milford's got a lot to learn about faes, if you told him ANYTHING. Tried to give me hot chocolate. That's only really booze for elves- right?_

"Why- what's wrong dear? You look so- so sad!"

_Or the- No, their ancestors. Does that race still exist?_

"Yeah, well it's just that LazyTown is a little.....messy." Stephanie closed her diary.

Gasp. "You think so? Well- uh- I guess it's just a little- uh- I suppose I could clean it up..."

"That would be a good idea." Uh- DUH. _Or you could continue to make me miserable, but you know, I'm just your one and only niece, right? Not anything special here, just an ex-fae..._"-You ARE the Mayor..."

Another gasp. "You know? That's true! I'll pull the weeds and fix the gate- Oh dear, that's a lot to do..."

"But the REAL problem is that none of the kids play outside in LazyTown!" _Touche, Colonel Mustard. What's your excuse now?_

"Well, I- I can't change that." _You CAN'T? Why are you the Mayor if you can't even do anything good for the community?_ "Well, y'know they USED to, but- uh- but then they stopped..."

"I don't wanna sit inside all day playing video games..."

Third gasp today. _Note- Find out Mayor's birthday and get him inhaler as gift._ "You know- I think I might know someone who can help!"

"Really?" Stephanie quipped, finally looking hopeful.

"Yes- I remember a story- about a hero who came from an island in the North Sea!" _Also get him a map for his birthday. With a big arrow pointing to Iceland. Where we are right now. Are we even close to the North Sea?_ "I couldn't remember his name, but there was a big number 9 on his chest..." _Oh my GOD. Well, that explains THAT. Revolution #9. I wouldn't exactly consider the UK an ISLAND, but to each his own, I guess. And it's RIGHT NEXT TO the North Sea..._ "Oh, and he moved around ALL the time!" Swishing sound effects, accompanied by traumatizing pelvic thrusts. _He DID get around a lot- went to America and back, and apparently here, too..... _"I think he may have even been- A SUPERHERO!"

A Stephanie gasp. _His standards are way too low. But, after Watchmen, I'll believe anything. _"A superhero!?"

"Yes, and he lives in an airship! And when the kids wanted to contact him, they would write a letter, and send it to him through a tube next to the mailbox!"

"Wow!" _Wow, WTF? An AIRSHIP? Obviously something was amiss._ "Do you think I could send him a letter?"

"I'm not sure it works anymore, but it's worth a try! I think I have that tube around here somewhere- I'll go get it."

-two seconds later-

"HERE IT IS!" _A caulk gun? How am I supposed to-_ "Oh, no, that's a cake decorating device!" _WHAT THE- Okay, he uses a CAULKING GUN to decorate cakes. I hope he isn't decorating them with caulk. Note- never eat cakes made by the Mayor._

-two MORE seconds later-

Stephanie brought the tube to the mailbox, only to find it overgrown with weeds and stopped up with a cork- an addition that looked recent. Huh.

Robbie caught a glance of her trying to pry the cork off the tube. "What? No!"

She wiggled it a little bit. _Almost there..._

"Don't do it, little girl.....It will only cause trouble..." He cautioned, but she couldn't hear him over the popping of the cork.

"No- No..."

"Please work..." Stephanie begged, dropping the tube into the pipe and letting it fly.

"NOOOO!" Robbie shouted, looking up to the tube as if watching a bullet fly directly towards a person's heart. Whatever happened next was all to blame on the little pink girl that he used to know as the adorable fae Nuala. His picture-perfect image of her crumbled, and he pushed any memories he had of her to the farthest corners of his mind, where they couldn't be reached.

The only safety for 'that person' was far away from LazyTown. Far away from the dancing pink menace who was probably sent here for the same reason he was. Far away from himself.

-Somewhere far above the world, In 'that person's Blue Airship-

A man dressed in a rather snug blue costume spun elegantly through the air, catching the tube that had flown into his airship. Landing perfectly, he unfurled the pink paper inside.

"I've got mail!" He exclaimed in surprise. Mail didn't come too often, and it was a rare occurrence when it did arrive. The man read the letter aloud, as the sound of at least one voice in his airship kept him company, even if it was his own.

_To whom it may concern..._

_I need help. There's no one to play with in LazyTown._

_Sincerely,_

_Stephanie_

"Okay-" Another flip through the air, and he was across the airship, opening a very old book with the town's name on the front. It looked like a book that might have been taken right out of the Dreaming Library. "-I've heard of LazyTown before...It used to be a GREAT place to live! Now it needs help..." He pulled out a blue piece of paper, scribbling 'Help is on the way', and begun folding it into a paper airplane. "Well, if Stephanie needs me, then I'm on my way to LazyTown."

He sent the letter on its way down to Stephanie, and began preparing the airship for descent.

-At the Mailbox, where an impatient Stephanie waits...-

Sigh. "Well, I guess no one's coming..." The pink-haired girl tapped the mailbox, looking glum. _I thought not. Lennon's dead. I saw the news when it happened._

Robbie looked on hopefully. "Maybe it won't work.....Maybe he's on a vacation. And maybe- he's quit all the superhero business!" But his hopes died when he saw the blue paper airplane that fell into her hand. "What- NO!"

Stephanie smiled as she read it. "Help is on the way!" She repeated the words gladly, looking skyward. And likewise, a blue airship descended from the heavens. _Holy- All it needs is a heavenly choir!_

The man came flipping out of the airship so fast she could barely see who it was. "Are you Number Nine?" she asked, instantly she was presented with a view of his back.

"Nope, I'm Number Ten! My name is Sportacus." He shook her hand cheerfully, a smile almost permanently plastered on his face.

"I'm Stephanie." DEFINITELY not Lennon. I can see why Lucien doesn't like him already, but he's nearly as cute as-.....Well, at any rate, more for me! "It's VERY nice to meet you..."

"Another one?" Robbie looked at the outfit he was wearing now. Either the elf was playing switcheroo every night, or there were two versions of him. And they were both very nearly the same thing.

"Are you a superhero?" Stephanie quipped, curious.

The man paused. This question always left him slightly unsettled. "Mmm, well- Let's just say I'm a slightly above AVERAGE hero."_ Don't press it any further, please?_

Stephanie giggled. _I'll BET you are._

-At a Teeter-Totter Near YOU!-

"It's MI-I-I-INE, Trixie!" Stingy goaded the girl who only rolled her eyes at him. "GO. AWAY!"

Trixie put her hand on her hip. "It takes TWO to teeter-totter, Stingy!"

"No-o-o-o, it's mine! All mine..." Stingy taunted, before realizing his mistake. Now Trixie stood with one foot on the other end, hands on hips. She smiled wolfishly. "Okay, if you insist..." She told him, foot threatening to slip.....

-Insert Crystal Flashing Here-

"What's that?" Stephanie asked, pointing at the myriad of colors emitting from the smaller number 10 on Sportacus's chest.

"That's my crystal-" So THAT was what she was sent to retrieve...didn't look like much to Stephanie, but then again, she never saw all the dream stones. "Someone's in trouble. Sorry, I have to go." He left in a flurry of gymnastics movements.

"Oh no....." Robbie bit his nails. He wouldn't let this continue if he could help it. He would keep them distracted to the end of time if he had to.

-Back at the Teeter-Totter-

As an angry Trixie took her foot off her side of the teeter-totter, Sportacus sprang into action. He landed on Trixie's side of the teeter-totter, leaving Stingy flying through the air. The elf easily caught him, giving him instructions to be more careful next time.

Robbie cringed as he watched the man save the kid from something only potentially slightly damaging. WITH a method that could potentially cause brain damage. He silenced the thoughts of _I should know-_ he didn't want to think about childhood right now.

Sportacus flipped back to Stephanie, only to be distracted by his crystal flashing again. "More trouble..." he flipped off again, just in time to catch Trixie and Ziggy before they fell to the ground. Turns out Trixie was balancing on Ziggy's shoulders to see over a wall, and both lost balance.

Robbie narrowed his eyes at the bunch. "They're not going to ruin LazyTown- I'll see to that." The lithe man then began to announce a little louder, so that others could hear if they tried- "And now it's time to PUT AN END TO SPORTAKOOK- once and for ALL!" He began to dig, speaking rather loudly as if to himself "And now- A trap- For SPORTAKOOK..."

He then heard a woman blathering something about a hair appointment into a cell phone. "It's Bessie! She'll ruin my trap!" He watched regrettably as the woman neared the hole. "No- NO..." Unfortunately, it was too late and she fell in. Stephanie and Sportacus both saw her fall in, and ran to her aid. Robbie rolled his eyes. _Why didn't you save that one, eh, Elf boy?_

Stephanie found the Mayor with a large cake. "Uncle Milford! Someone's stuck in a hole!" _Not like telling YOU will help..._

Sportacus looked at his crystal. _Why is it still flashing?_

Robbie rolled his eyes again. _Idiot._

"I've got a life preserver!" Stephanie offered. _I could only find a life preserver....._ "I've got a CAKE!" Milford offered. _...And the Mayor has a cake. _"Nice cake-" _...Where have I heard this joke before?_ "Thank you, I- I made it just for you...Oh, we must SAVE her!" Stephanie sighed inwardly, then spoke- "Okay, stand back! I'll throw the live preserver over the branch." When it was over the branch, Ms Busybody grabbed onto it, and both the Mayor and Stephanie attempted to pull her to safety. And where was Sportacus during this time? We don't know, but now he suddenly appears again JUST when the rope is about to break due to it's- erm- *weight limit*? So now Bessie is suspended over a hole holding onto a live preserver, the Mayor's face is suspended over a cake, and the only thing keeping them from falling is an elf named Sportacus in a tight blue outfit. Stephanie wondered if there should be a punch-line to an event that sounded like it would make a great joke.

Needless to say, everyone was saved.

"And as Mayor of LazyTown, I would like to offer you an official thank-you! For your heroic actions! Thank you, Number Ten!" The Mayor told the elf, who bounced on his toes nervously.

"Please, call me Sportacus." he told everyone.

All the kids cheered, and Stephanie smiled. "Y'know, LazyTown is really starting to feel like home for me!" _Why should I even go back? I don't really even LIKE Daniel. Here, they let me dance! And why does Daniel even NEED the other crystal, anyway?_

"Me too." Sportacus told the group.

"Will you stay?" Stephanie asked, looking at him with begging, puppy-dog eyes. With the peer pressure from her and all the other kids, he just HAD to relent. "I think I will."

In the background, Robbie sighed in disappointment. This was going to be dangerous, mostly for himself, the elf, and the little pink girl. There was no way to escape it, and he figured that it was only a matter of time.

And then there was an explosion of dancing, cleaning madness upon the town that included singing nonsense. Robbie stepped forward to try to put an end to it, but fell in his own hole. It felt like a bad acid trip, and he hoped it was all a bad hallucination, but no such luck.

Later, after he had received medical care and was mysteriously transported back to his lair- almost like in Pokemon- he swore this to the world...

"I, Robbie Rotten, will not be be beaten by some costumed Sportaloony and a pink cheerlead-AUGHH" _Well, I see his heroism doesn't include ME. How quaint._ "I'll stop them if it's the last thing I do. And then LazyTown will stay lazy FOREVER- OWW!"

_F**king elf. F**king girl. F**king crystal. F**king life. I would die for them, but only because dying is SO MUCH MORE appealing than living like THIS. I hope it gets better. Because if this is how it's going to be, "I would die for them" might just turn into "I would die". Still, I can't even remember how I got here. It's like I was drugged and thrown in here as some sort of experiment. Perhaps that all I am. An experiment._

-Back at Stephanie's Room-

Stephanie secretly pulled out her diary, which had new writing in it from Daniel. The new dream lord.

_Tonight. At Midnight. Head out with the new outfit provided, and do some research for me. Your new cover name will be Solla. I want to see exactly what is going on when the lights go down. Something's wrong that everyone seems to disappear at 8:08. I've sent a few 'nightmares' over to help you out. Just in case you forget why you went there in the first place._

Stephanie internally cursed.

* * *

//...-JUST DANCE...gonna be okay.....//

* * *

The internet says that Great Britain is an island.

It also says that the North Sea is right next to it, whereas Iceland is farther away from it.

It also says that John Lennon was born October 9.

REVOLUTION #9.

Does that explain the generous heaps of Beatles quotes in my stories?

Yes. Yes it does.

But recently I've turned to KanYe West and Lady GaGa. They're my new favorites.

Oh, and for anyone concerned about the new rules "You can't have a real-life person in a story, blah blah blah," and bringing John Lennon into this- Neil Gaiman said that the Devil HAD TO BE David Bowie. And it's fictional-universe version of these people, so it's not the same thing. It's like Office Space- Just because your name is Michael Bolton doesn't mean you're THAT Michael Bolton.

Copyrights: LTE for LazyTown, Neil Gaiman for Sandman comics, and- does Michael Bolton have a copyright on his name? Regardless, the bits and pieces were from Lady GaGa's Just Dance. Stop me if I'm getting too far ahead of myself, and should just tell you what to listen to before you read the chapter instead of posting a snippet of lyrics.

Next chapter: You should see some more Robbie Rotten in the next one- I wanted to focus more on Stephanie this round. She's really a sweet girl, and I haven't given her as much credit as she deserves. And I'm hoping to bring up something you should remember from the old Latibaer plays. ALL THE OTHER CHARACTERS! The 'trolls', the policeman, Maggi Mjoi AKA 'Jives', and Eyrún Eyðslukló, who I will now be referring to as 'Erin', mostly. Really, I'd like to see YOU type her name repeatedly without copypaste or a special keyboard. And it's getting harder to find her name to copypaste, since Wikipedia is full of racist uncultured morons who decide that nobody should know of Latibaer.

I'm in a bad mood today.

Note- I am not implying that the Robbie Rotten of this story has brain damage. I am not putting it in for some sort of self-righteous revenge, either. I happen to have an ongoing character who started out with the name "Hungry Bob", who had grey eyes, black hair, a purple shirt with EMO written on it, and epilepsy. This was about four and a half years ago, before I found out about LazyTown. Ever since I did find LazyTown, it's been an ongoing joke that they've been one-in-the-same, and from now on, you might be hearing little tidbits about it.

Please review?


	5. Lost in Translation

WARNING: THE STORY HEATS UP. Can't stand violence, mature themes, or bad words? GET OUT WHILE YOU STILL CAN.

Lady Bast: OKAY! Well, we're well on our way in the story department already, since I wrote a lot beforehand. I hate to put so much plot out there, but I figured that there would be so much story anyway that it would be a terrible difficulty for people to want to still read when they have to try and figure out what is going on, and waiting to figure out the truth about Lazytown/Latibaer would just be like stretching the story out too far. Like Columbus's little "Shortcut to India" that didn't work out too well. We now get to see both sides to each coin from the very beginning. That reminds me- SANDMAN QUOTE TIME!

* * *

_"There are things not in your book. There are paths outside this garden. You would do well to remember that. . . Coins have two sides. Destruction told us that, when he was leaving. But I knew it already. You did too."_

-Delirium, _Brief Lives

* * *

_

\\All the pretty faces...\\

* * *

The transition from day to night in LazyTown was like a power outage. Suddenly, the sun just dropped off the face of the earth, and the moon reappeared in its place. As Stephanie- no, SOLLA- looked on in both amazement and horror, she felt her outfit shift and change. Her hair was now back to its original mousey dull brown, though it still maintained its short cutesy appeal- and she was now ornamented with dark green jewelry. This in comparison with her now-darker mauve and brown striped dress reminded her of a victorian christmas. She felt more comfortable in her own skin, even with the new outfit.

Sneaking out into the night with little rest, the ex-fae first stumbled upon a lone policeman. He was in a vaguely British dress, but looked perpetually tired with dark eyes glazed over with sleep, and black uncombed hair fluffed out from under his hat like glossy black feathers, obscuring what was to be seen of his sallow and pasty face. Only his mouth could be clearly seen at all times, gaping open in a yawn.

"Good evening, sir." She tried. The man only nodded in response, looking around. He then gave another monstrous yawn, and shuffled off as if he carried a ton of bricks on his back.

The night was so much more peaceful than the day, and invoked its own dreamy sense of being. As she watched, she spotted odd townsfolk that hadn't been discovered before making their way out of the woodworks, appearing from behind pale buildings that appeared to be shaped from moon dust.

Suddenly, she caught a glimpse of the very same elf she had met this morning, now dressed in golden brown, without the crystal on display in the center of his chest. Solla dashed for cover behind a pale building, watching him converse with a boy that looked like a photo negative of Pixel, only with very large green goggles on his head instead of an orange visor. His hair was similarly green, and his shirt was silver, like something that would be worn to a rave. The elf seemed to be talking to the child about spending time outside more often instead of confining himself to computers and video games- The ex-fae felt her heart stop. That couldn't be it. She left the cover of the building to investigate further.

The sports elf noticed her first, before she could say a word. "Hello, I haven't seen you in Latibær before. My name is Íþróttaálfurinn, what's yours?"

She froze. "This isn't LazyTown?" This earned her a strange look.

"I'm sorry, my English isn't very good- what kind of town?" He looked on in confusion, a hand to his ear in the hopes that maybe he misheard her.

"EVERYTHING I'm saying is in English. How can you understand me?" Solla was utterly bewildered, looking at the man like he had grown a second head.

"It sounds like you're speaking fluent Icelandic to me. Setting that aside, you still haven't told me your name."

"It's Solla. Say, do you know the name of the boy there with the green hair and the silver shirt?"

"Him? He's Goggi Mega. Resident computer whiz. He goes out so rarely that he's pale as milk."

Solla bit back a yawn. "Oh. Well, I should be off. Shouldn't you be in bed as well? AND these other people, too? It's past midnight, you know."

"I recharge in the mornings. So I'm well-rested right now. I thought most people awake now probably slept earlier."

"That makes sense, I guess." Solla felt a strangely different tone in the elf- he was talking to her as if she was an adult instead of another mindless ten-year-old who knew nothing about the world. It made her feel respected and equal, and changed her opinion of the so-called 'hero'.

"I hate to ask, but how old are you? I can't really tell at night." Oh. THAT explained it. It took her a few minutes before she answered.

"Well, I just turned sixteen a few weeks ago..." she lied, knowing her real age would give her away. Chances were that she was nearly as old or even older than the sports elf, and lying about her age made her feel better about it. Especially with her new cover identity.

He sighed lightly, hands in pockets, looking away. "If you're going to lie, you could at least be convincing about it. I would have believed 23 for a woodland creature such as yourself."

The ex-fae nearly died. Sportacus didn't give the topic any consideration, assuming her to be a young girl, but THIS version of the elf could easily see through her charade. "Okay, I give up. Who are you, what do you know, and what have you done with the real Sportacus?"

_Sigh._ He scratched the back of his head.

"Have you seen Card Captor Sakura?" he finally asked, a sheepish look on his face. The ONLY upside to TV shows like that was that they explained obscure situations that could almost never happen. When they did, the victim of said event was the unfortunate recipient of many associations with obscure anime characters that were often gay, girls with massive and impossible cup sizes, or both.

"Oh, so you're kinda like Yuki and Yue, where Yuki is kinda a disguise or something? And Yue is the one that remembers stuff that Yuki experiences?"

"Something like that." He looked at his shoes. _Crap. Yuki's the gay one. Note to self- Stop using Card Captor Sakura as an example, because eighty percent of the characters are either gay or practicing pedophiles. Or both._

"If you're not Sportacus, then who are you? Where's the crystal, and what does it really do?"

Íþróttaálfurinn froze mid-thought, looking very much like a deer in headlights. He looked to the sky, looking anywhere but at Solla's face. "Um."

"UM isn't an answer." She crossed her arms insistently over her rather flat chest. "...Well?" the girl insisted.

"I...kinda- AM the crystal?" He bit his lower lip, wincing in anticipation of some sort of attack or outrage.

Solla was horrified. The new dream lord Daniel wanted her to kill someone for the sake of retrieving a long-since given away crystal sunstone- a dreamstone that was responsible for someone's very life. He actually wanted her to take away the very thing that tied this man to the earth for the sake of gaining just a bit more power for himself. No wonder Lucien was such a frazzled mess. "H-How did this happen?" She pleaded for some sort of information that would provide some clue as to extracting the power of the crystal or something without killing the individual that lay behind it.

"I can't say-" This was interrupted by a loud cry from a brilliant white bird, a Merula Alba to be exact. Its crown feathers were interestingly curly and longer than normal, clustering in great volumes around dark eyes and continuing down to its neck. Its pale white feet gently gripping Íþróttaálfurinn's shoulder.

"Haninn? What's wrong?" He asked the white raven on his shoulder, which spoke fluently in many languages.

"Those three Oni are harassing Glanni again." The bird's voice was like a rustling of feathers and a child's whisper.

"Oni? You mean those trolls, the Glaums?"

"Glanni? Who's Glanni?" Solla questioned the two.

"You probably know him as Robbie. Language is a big barrier for names. Some alter their names, some translate them, and some change them to suit other aspects of themselves."

"What do they want with him?" Solla asked, looking off for this supposed group of criminals.

"How should I know? He doesn't talk to me since the first time he told me it wasn't safe to go to Latibær. It was much like the conversation between you and me, but after I talked to him last, he just...changed. He made sure that nobody contacted me, then holed himself up in his silo. He only comes out to either buy groceries or yell at me. So I don't know what they want from him."

Well, that was decidedly odd. Lucien was a very passive-aggressive person, but he never held grudges on those who didn't deserve it. Though the lithe librarian was often a very complex person...Solla blamed his current antics on this part of his behavior, since she could never tell what the man was thinking.

They spotted him in a black catsuit, being pursued by a group of three hoodlums that looked like they came straight out of A Clockwork Orange, hats and all. The indisputable leader wore bleach-white jeans with a pair of dark brown leather boots and a yellow theme- he held a yellow bag wrapped in his hands as a makeshift rope, threatening to strangle the ever-loving snot out of any interferer, and in the pocket of his dark grey, full-length jacket, there was a square of yellow handkerchief sticking out. A black bowler hat with a yellow band tipped low over choppy white hair, and sunglasses obscured his eyes.

"Oh no." Solla whispered, grabbing the elf's arm and dashing for cover before they could be seen. "I've seen him before. He's not usually so angry at Robbie though..."

"Do you know something I don't?" The elf asked.

"Shhh! They're looking for YOU, Ipr- Ifr- Ipro- Sports elf."

Íþróttaálfurinn giggled. Solla stamped on his foot.

"We told you before to get the sunstone, didn't we, Carmine?" The leader advanced upon Glanni with the bag, driving him awfully close to the wall behind him.

"Obviously we're going to have to give him a taste of what happens when he doesn't listen to well-given advice..." This was spoken by a thin goateed man with a red-banded black fedora and a grey trench-coat with a red sash. His bag was red, and was carrying a rather good load of bricks wrapped up in the very bottom of it. He was pulled aside by a rather chunky bearded man whose outfit looked more childish- his hat was a dark blue nightcap, he carried his bag like Linus would carry his security blanket, and his outfit was like a high-quality nightgown or robe- it was a soft, cool grey with four blue buttons in rows of two and a blue lining, reaching his ankles. He wore blue slacks and grey leather shoes, and appeared to be brother of the man in red. "Yuh-you c-can't be s-so harsh to h-" Carmine cut him off.

"Azure, shut your bleedin' trap before I shut it for you." He gave the man a warning look.

"B-but..." -WHAM. Azure was now out cold, his hat having fallen off from the impact of the bricks against his head. He looked very dead.

This was enough to send Íþróttaálfurinn running to the man's aid. If they would do that to one of their own gang, what would they do to Glanni?

"No! He'll be fine!" Solla screamed after him, bounding from her hiding spot. _God knows 'Azure' has died enough times already, only to get right up again..._

Glanni was now cornered between two buildings, but he was currently transfixed with fear by the group's newfound interest in the elf.

"Oy, what do we have here?" The man in yellow had by this point grabbed Íþróttaálfurinn forcefully by his chin, and was intently studying his eyes with a sick sense of wonder. The red one only looked on with a look of interest and intrigue.

"He's our goal, then? Taking a life wasn't in the job description, that's why I took it! This is complete discrimination, and I'm insulted. I feel like one of those Mexican workers who was suddenly tricked into picking strawberries by being told he was going to be CEO of a large group." Carmine hoisted up his bag, prepared to leave in a huff if need be.

The man with the shades hooked a finger behind one arm of the sunglasses, ever the more ecstatic. "But it makes such beautiful sense, doesn't it? They don't send dreams to do a nightmare's job, and this is certainly our area of expertise..." He slipped the shades off to reveal gaping mouths for eyes, with glistening white sharpened teeth.

Solla had to stop this. "But if you took his eyes to extract his power, wouldn't Daniel have to uncreate you to get the power he wanted?"

It was the perfect thing to say. It was the truth.

The shades slipped from the nightmare's hand, shattering as they met the concrete. He slowly released Íþróttaálfurinn, who at this point was crying. "You- you're right. I almost fell for that again..."

Carmine was disappointed. "You weak bastard. All you have to do is kill him, and you get the crystal back." By now he had our poor Sports Elf in a chokehold, and rolled his eyes at his own leader, an action that would normally get him killed if he wasn't right.

Suddenly, a horribly loud feedback from an amp sounded, followed by a deafening duet of bass and electric guitars accompanied by wah-wah pedal.

"TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH!" Glanni shouted, the rest of the gang shielding their precious ears. Íþróttaálfurinn took this opportunity to run off and hide again, though close enough to see the new arrivals on the scene.

Two boys stood upon a gigantic amp on wheels, one dressed in tight jeans that did not suit his weight and a Superman T-shirt that was modified for the stage. He bore almond-shaped blue eyes and dirty blonde, almost black slicked-back hair that tried to mimic Robbie's hair, only with one rather large black curl sticking out the front. The other boy on the bass guitar was a slightly older boy that looked like an unusually colorful Newsies extra, with his abundance of slightly wavy/curly chestnut hair bursting out from a green plaid newspaper boy cap with a black and white checkered band, hazel eyes with dark circles from lack of sleep, and his outfit of plaid shorts and checkered suspenders. His shirt was bright yellow, his shoes were old, worn out brown work boots, and his socks were bright green leg-warmer-type socks that constantly gathered around his ankles. The only possible thing the older boy could have done to look MORE gay is to- uh...hmm. Oh, I know a few. Dress in a catsuit, dress in drag, dress in form-fitting high-waisted pants...Not that there's anything WRONG with that...Not that we're IMPLYING anything. Y'know. Not implying anything at all.

"Jives and Stardust, at your service. Always fashionably late." The taller one announced, letting another riff spew from his instrument.

"With his sleep deficiency and my Down's Syndrome, it's amazing we're here at all!" The shorter, younger one cheered sarcastically, playing a few more chords.

"Ziggy?" Solla questioned, "You have Down's Syndrome?"

"I must be popular, she knows my name already! See Maggi, I told you this band shit worked with meeting hot chicks!" He elbowed the older one cheerfully, who winced and grinned sheepishly in reply, then addressed his attention to the troll gang. "So- um- what just happened here, anyway? What's going on?"

"Nothing, nothing..." The leader kept his head lowered so as not to show his lack of eyes. "We were just leaving, weren't we, Carmine?"

There was a look of disgust that crossed Carmine's face, but he followed his leader's advice and tucked tail. "Yes, we were." He hissed through his teeth, grabbing his brother and hoisting him over his shoulder like he was a sack of barley.

When they were gone, nearly everyone let out a sigh of relief. Glanni spotted the Sports Elf emerging from his hiding place, and turned to leave. But Íþróttaálfurinn caught his arm before he could go.

"Why were they chasing you?" he pleaded for an explanation.

Silence.

"Answer me, Glanni." He turned his head so he could look straight up into the taller man's downturned face.

"I told you to leave."

A few tears landed on the elf's face, and the taller man choked back a sob. Íþróttaálfurinn let go of his arm to wipe those tears away, but as soon as he blinked, the man was long gone.

"YOU MADE HIM CRY!" both boys shouted in unison from atop their amp, unplugging their instruments. "THIS CALLS FOR A PROPER PUNISHMENT!"

Íþróttaálfurinn sped off for the safety of the airship before the guitars could even touch him. Both instruments gained a dent or two from this.

The taller boy, Maggi, picked up his bass guitar and slung it behind his back. "So, Girly, we need a lead singer. How's your singing?"

Solla just gave him a look. "It's just fine and not for sale, thank you. I don't like spending too much time out late."

"Suit yourself, but we really need a lead singer who's a girl. Maggi just doesn't cut it." The other boy giggled, mimicking Maggi by slinging his instrument behind his back in a similar manner.

"...Says Siggi, the boy who absolutely refuses to sing anything unless it's a David Bowie hit." Maggi tipped his head lower to give the other boy a look, a cheshire grin spreading across his face.

"Hey, I don't question your tastes in clothes, you don't have the right to question my tastes in music. I'm just trying to follow my namesake."

"Siggi, namesake-following is usually done for your SURNAME, not your first name. And I don't know what 'Sæti' has to do with music." Maggi chimed in, starting to talk with his hands.

"You know that's just the last name of my adoptive parents, right? That's why I prefer the namesake that I know my real parents assigned me." He was now unwrapping a lollipop he had found in his back pocket, and starting to nibble on it.

"Y'know, I think you're lying about being disabled. You talk better grammar than most of the kids in this stupid town."

Siggi responded to this by grabbing the stick of the lollipop between thumb and forefinger, holding it upside down, and nibbling at it in the weirdest way that he could. "Everyone can't be perfect. Everyone lies." he said, scratching one of his legs with his foot.

Maggi broke out in the loudest gasping laugh he could. "OH GOD. I will NEVER let you watch that stupid anime ever again. NEVER. That was, like, the most disturbing thing I've ever seen you do. I will never question your weirdness ever again, oh great Siggi-sama. But obviously you're not using your head enough- because you're still getting fat from sweets despite your obvious attempts at being a bona-fide genius."

Solla slowly ran away.

If that were possible.

Okay, so she slipped away, then ran for her bloody LIFE.

Until she crashed headfirst into a pig-tailed redhead with a slingshot.

"Where do you THINK you're GOING? You just ran into me, bitch!" The slightly-japanese girl with the striped shirt brandished her slingshot as one would a lethal gun, pointed straight at Solla's face.

"It was a mistake, honest!" She held up her arms in resignation and defense, "I was running away from someone else!"

"Who...?" the girl threatened, pulling back the rubber band farther.

"Maggi and Siggi. They're scary."

The redhead disengaged her weapon, and offered her hand. "My apologies. I thought you were just messing with me. I'm Halla Hrekkjusvín, by the way."

They shook hands. "Solla-" She fumbled for a quick surname, somehow thinking of one off the top of her head. "Solla Stirða."

"You're new here, right? You must be Bæjarstjórinn's niece. The pink one."

Solla only blinked.

"I know how things work here. It's weird. First time I realized who Goggi Mega was, I think my brain died. I think all those role-play video games have gone to his head. Trixie, remember?"

"OH! Yeah, yeah. It's just- uh...I don't quite know how to say this..."

"I know I look like a dyke. But I kinda pissed off Goggi, and now he kinda hacked my internet so I can't buy anything online anymore. This was a hand-me-down shirt from Siggi. I look like a damned bee."

"I think I could help you, I might have something you could wear..." Solla offered.

Halla took one look at her outfit. "No. I refuse to look like a striped pink version of Marge Simpson. I'd have to go shopping, and most of my allowance usually goes to the Association for Broken Windows and Coffee Tables, if you know what I mean."

"I see. Well, why don't you ask Glanni? I'm sure he's got enough costumes and sewing skills to spare, I saw him wearing a catsuit earlier."

"Oh? Well thank God you didn't see his pimp outfit. We were beginning to think he was going to offer the elf a job turning tricks somewhere, if you know what I mean. Probably why the elf was avoiding him so much. Glanni is turning into quite the Miroku."

"Miroku? What's that?" Solla tilted her head in bewilderment.

"Oh, sorry. I keep making Inuyasha references, but nobody in Latibær seems to watch any GOOD anime. All they know is that damned CLAMP fluff, and some other lame anime that's only famous in America because they have this total death and dying mindset." Halla sighed, putting her hand on her hip. "Nobody watches anything good, like Doraemon, Casshern, or any of those. Which is a shame, because it's like true Japanese culture is dying."

Solla interjected. "I disagree, I think it's just lost in translation. Many cultures aren't as tolerant, and in the case of shows like...Yu-Gi-Oh? That's the only popular one i know...in their case, it turned from a manga about some creepy Pharaoh guy who lit some guy on fire into some nonsense about a harmless little card game and never-ending friendship speeches and somewhere in the background the song Love Lift Us Up Where We Belong. If there was ever a show more lost in translation, I can't find it."

"Sure there is, Solla!" Halla snickered, hanging her head.

"There is?" Solla tilted her head, "That's impossible."

"We're living it right now."

They both broke out in lovely peals of laughter like little girls do, believing it to be a lovely and clever little joke they made up. Unfortunately it is the truth.

When they were both done laughing, unwittingly at their own misfortunes, the two girls gathered themselves and bid their farewells.

"Well, thank you for the advice with Glanni and such. And- Did you happen to see Nenni, by any chance?"

Solla glared at her. "Where do you get these names? You're basically named 'rock' in Icelandic...and now something that sounds like Ninny?"

"Hello! I have a slingshot! I shoot rocks at things! Appropriate name, I'm not a dyke, I swear! And that greedy little boy in yellow is a ninny! Screw the Icelandic meaning, I have a rock and I'm not afraid to use it!"

"You don't like Iceland as much as Japan, do you?"

Halla only glared at her. "I was made to move when I was seven and a half. I was happy before I moved. What do YOU think?"

"Sorry. So- um- you were looking for-"

"BOO!"

Both girls jumped, and were confronted with a boy who had a big floppy blue bowtie. Other than that, It was just the same outfit Stingy wore in the morning.

"You- YOU NINNY!"

"Yeah? What do you want?"

"AUGH!" Halla threw her arms up in disgust. "I can't stand you!"

Nenni looked at her. "Really? But your MY friend!"

"I'm not 'YOUR' anything!" She folded her arms in disgust. "GOD, you're such a possessive weirdo!"

"So we aren't even friends, then? It's been at least two years! I haven't made any progress?"

Sigh. "That's not it. I just don't want to have friends like everyone else does. I just want to have people to talk to who won't bother me. And you're annoying."

"Okay...? You're going to have to clarify, I don't speak girl." Nenni squinted.

"I just moved here three years ago. And in a year, suddenly everyone wants to smother me in Icelandic. I BARELY understand this language, and had to learn a whole bunch of stuff in two years, and I can't completely process ALL of this in only three years here!"

Nenni looked hurt. "I- I didn't know you were foreign. I'm sorry. Which nationality, may I ask?"

"I'm Japanese, you IDIOT! How can you NOT tell?" Halla glared at him.

"Oh, cool! Have you ever seen Hare + Guu?"

"Of COURSE I've seen- I mean...Yeah. It's so funny!"

Solla headed off to bed, the sun was threatening to reappear, and she had done enough to fix things. She went back to her room, which by now halfway across town, yawning all the way there.

Little did the people know, on the other side of town near Glanni's silo, another girl was setting her bags down at the foot of an apartment building. She was blonde, and had a bob haircut longer than Solla's, with two pigtails with blue ribbons. Her outfit was blood red with blue hearts- one on a red choker around her neck, and another two as buttons holding her jumper on. It was a red jumper with a wide gothic lolita-type skirt, white tulle sticking out from under it in abundance. Under the jumper, she had a blue-rimmed red plaid short-sleeve shirt, also decorated with some very tiny blue hearts scattered all over it. Blue heart earrings and black high-heel mary janes paired with white socks completed the ensemble.

"Hello, little lullaby town. Latibær, was it?" She turned around, and saw the two boys with the guitars. "Oh, I think I'm going to like it here. Lucky-Lucky girl is home! Eyrún Eydslukló, that's me! And I will be a very famous girl!"

Oh yeah. There was another new girl in Latibær.

Cue horror movie music.

* * *

\\...Ringing out, and I just can't go to bed...\\

* * *

Lyrics from The Killers- All the Pretty Faces.

((Speaking of music, AMERICAN IDOL. ADAM LAMBERT. PANTS. *drool*))

(((Is it a sin to say that those very tight pants he wore remind me of Robbie's?)))

((((Speaking of Robbie outfits, MMM BLACK CATSUIT. So form-fitting. *PURRR*))))

AUTHOR NOTES:

Wow, it's like we just dived into a totally different world.

WAAAAH! KAWAII SPORTAROBBIE FLUFF! Well, technically not.

But- IT IS PROGRESS!

Yes, I did use Glaums. It was cute. It's cute to have the elf using only Icelandic phrases. As well as obscure un-dubbed CLAMP anime references. And yes, Oni is a Japanese phrase for Troll. And why did I make the bird say Oni? For one, it's the only other word for troll that I know. XD.

Ha, Ziggy/Siggi and Jives/Maggi are like the Karasu Tengu in xxxHOLiC. Not to mention the vespa girl from FLCL. I watch entirely too much anime.

XD I can just see the poor sports elf now, scrambling up his ladder in a very Watanuki-like manner, limbs flailing, screaming dramatically, with the disgruntled Ziggy and Jives flying after him with their guitars held high above their heads, ready to hit him.....I should stop watching anime altogether. This is really bad.

Yes, I named the Glaums by color. Sue me.

God, the yellow leader is so evilly seductive.

And yes, yellow is the leader, because it was the only thing that made sense.

Because of red and blue being brothers.

SIBLING RIVALRY.

Oh, and now I have started translating names. Eyrún Eydslukló is a name centered COMPLETELY around the word 'lucky'. Apparently she is named to be a goddess of luck. So I will be using 'lucky' as a very abstract nickname.

FORGET EVERY BIT YOU EVER SAW OF THAT UGLY WHITE BIRD PUPPET. Instead, do an image search for 'white raven'. Replace the horrible visage of such an ugly, wrinkly-faced puppet with that image, only imagine there are curlier head feathers. Oh, and for those who are wondering WHERE the DEUCE I got the words "Merula Alba", I was playing the game Syberia (some shameless advertising here), when some monk guy wanted to see a Merula Alba, Latin for 'white raven'. These beautiful words for the elusive bird became so ingrained into my subconscious that every time I saw the second Latibaer play, even though I couldn't understand a word of it, I would scream, MERULA ALBA! whenever that weird wrinkly albino Big-Bird impostor popped up on stage.

His ugliness prompted me to replace his uselessness with another more important character. Keep in mind his new appearance. When I reveal the plot twist involving him finally, YOUR MINDS WILL BE BLOWN. (imagine the last part said in a Rita Repulse-Type voice. Because I just said it in one out loud.)

Coincidentally, an airship is a key plot device in Syberia's gameplay. You cannot complete the game without it. Tell me if you absolutely want this included in the plot- I can and will resist the urge to if everyone hates the idea of a Syberia fandom squashed between my disturbing CLAMP obsession and my complete infatuation with Neil Gaiman's works.

Boy do I ever run my mouth off. Please review, my darlings! DA-CHA!

((ohgod I'm hopeless.))


	6. For Now We See Through A Mirror, Darkly

Bastet: Well, you got to see what happens at night in LazyTown. I mean- Latibaer. Because it's not LazyTown at night. And that, my friends, is why Sportacus's bedtime is mind-blowingly early despite his age. Of course, there's always the excuse of "he's a role model for preschoolers, and doesn't really exist," but I am following REALITY'S LOGIC, not 'Baby-Teaching TV Show Logic'. Because there is no such thing, and there is no reason to whitewash the world to the point of stupidity. In fact, said stupidity drove me to draw Sportacus in a Sumomo/Plum costume. The persocom from Chobits, yes, the little one that dances around like crazy and yells "LET'S DO THE WAKEY-WAKEY EXERCISES!" Because that is EXACTLY how Sportacus acts, all day, every day. I should get a good account somewhere for said picture to go. Because I don't have any image places.

Well, moving on, TODAY you will learn of the wonders of the life of the Glaums outside of 'work'. If anyone has qualms about this being a crossover piece, speak NOW. Because this is really LazyTown-based, but it is merely an expansion into other worlds, more than one. So the only possible fandom I could otherwise pin it to is Sandman, and then nobody would be able to find it. And then nobody else would read it. There, I said it.

* * *

_"I will be a wise and tolerant monarch, dispensing justice fairly, and only setting nightmares to rip out the minds of the evil and wicked. Or just anybody I don't like."_

-John Dee, **Sandman #7: "Sound and Fury"**

* * *

\\_Kajitsu ga tsugeta mirai- Risei wo wasureta machi..._\\

* * *

"Put that down."

Two men sat outside a short, fat, seemingly ramshackle of a house. Next to it was a house similar in what seemed to be lack of maintenance, but this one was tall and narrow, like the notorious tower of Rapunzel fame. In fact, it probably was the same tower, only old and broken-looking. It had that look of being very broken. Like a broken leg or arm. Just- bloody and bruised and gangrene and everything nasty you could want in the outside of a house.

But they both had lovely porches for sitting. Just, the tall one's porch was at its top, a makeshift balcony, and the short fat house had it right in a dugout basement-type thingy. Below its first floor. Did I mention that there was a walk-out basement that acted as a first floor for the old shorter house? No I didn't.

Brothers lived in those houses. Don't ask me why they live in two separate houses if they're brothers. Not in this economy, har-de-har har.

The brothers looked just like the houses- one was rather chubby, sporting a bit of an overgrown beard, his hair brown and slicked back on the top, the sides sticking out like cowlicks. He wore a worn-out blue three-piece suit. The other brother was tall and lanky, with red slacks kept up by suspenders, and a red and white striped top. Obviously he was pissed, because his brother had decided to pick up HIS gardening hoe. Not that the man in red did any gardening, IF you know what I mean.

"I j-juh-just thought thuh-that your fruh-front yard could uh- use-..." The man began, his grip loosening on the handle.

"Abel, what is it that my front yard could POSSIBLY need? It's got nearly everything I want and require in a front yard!"

"Ruh-roses? Red ones..."

The man looked at his brother like he was out of his mind. "ROSES? Do I LOOK like a GIRL to you, brother?" he spoke with venom, ripping the hoe out of his brother's hands.

"Nuh-not at all, cuh-Cain, I- I just..." He looked at his grey shoes.

"Then WHAT could I POSSIBLY WANT with ROSES?" Cain shouted indignantly, his grip tightening so tightly around the handle that his hand shook and his knuckles turned white.

"Th- they muhmade the Dark tuh-Tower luh-look uh- ominous..."

Cain's eyebrows went up. "Oh." Abel was actually a bloody genius. And anything that made him an even MORE ominous Wandering Jew in the eyes of others was alright by him... "I suppose they did. Carry on."

Unfortunately, when he moved to give the hoe back to his poor, stuttering brother, some unseen force behind him forced the blade of the gardening tool straight into his brother's neck. This also forced Cain to land straight on his face, resulting in a bloodied nose and knee, and by the time he managed to get up, a dead brother.

He had never been so surprised before. Cain had made the consious effort to be kind to his brother and try NOT killing him for once, but he only ended up killing him by accident.

"You didn't do as I asked, Cain. Do I have to explain to you the rules again?" The voice was sharp like glass, and cold like snow. It was like being pelted with an ice-ball in the dead of winter. Sure enough, when he turned around, there was the white-as-snow visage of the new dream lord himself, cloaked in silk-white robes.

"YOU sent Nuala! Of all people, you sent Nuala! She left twice, and you still made her come back and sent her there! Not to mention our identities were nearly compromised, thanks to her! The goddamned elf IS the crystal!" Cain choked, moving to stand.

"I still don't understand the problem. You should have just taken it, compromised identity or not. It is imperative that you retrieve it." The dream lord Daniel smirked viciously. "Otherwise, you remain this way, forever fated to kill your brother no matter how much you attempt to change. You will always be a murderer, a nightmare, and your brother will always be doomed to die because of your impossibly cruel nature."

"I'd be a murderer either way! And I did NOT murder Abel this time! That was your doing! YOU'RE the murderer, NOT me!" Cain grabbed the hoe that was stained with his brother's blood, and brandished it as a weapon, foolishly threatening to kill the dream lord. Let it be known that his grip on the handle and his stance seemed very similar to how Sakura would brandish the card-sealing staff she employs in her card-capturing. _FUCK looking girly. There are more IMPORTANT matters to attend to._

Before Cain knew it, he was getting absolutely torn to shreds. The last thing he remembered was his brother's voice.

---

"BROTHER! BROTHER, WAKE UP!"

Carmine awoke with a killer migraine, and his first instinct was to attribute it to the idiot who was screaming him awake, who would undoubtedly be sorry in a couple of minutes. But when he opened his eyes to see Azure, his neck wrapped up in bandages, yet still bleeding profusely, he was compelled to check a mirror. Unfortunately, the very effort of trying to get out of bed was difficult, and he ended up rolling out of bed and landing on the floor.

"Thank God you woke up."

"You're not stuttering." Carmine noticed.

Azure said nothing more, only pulling the man back into the bed with as much strength as he could muster. Carmine tried hoisting himself the rest of the way, and managed to get most of his body back on the bed, one leg hanging lamely over the side, bleeding profusely. "Where's Cornsilk?"

"I don't know. I remember he went to Glanni's house, but he didn't come back." Azure got a damp cloth and dabbed at some of the bad wounds, not knowing what more to do, and not wanting to make any more damage.

"Well, numbskull? Go get Glanni! I'm bleedin' to death here!"

"Yuh-yes sir." Azure jumped, running faster than what should be possible for anyone his size.

-At The Silo-

((warning: not a trendy night club. though it could be one.))

Glanni drank another cup of expresso. By this time, he had gone through twelve or fourteen cups along with about five or so cans of Red Bull, and was nursing a bad caffeine trip. When Azure zipped right into his silo unannounced, he jumped nearly high enough to hit the ceiling.

"Sorry. D-Did you see our boss around huh-here? Carmine is bleeding really badly." Azure twiddled his thumbs anxiously. Glanni sighed, leading him to an electric lift he used in emergencies to leave the silo. He would use it more often, but it was in an inconvenient place, and required a key that Glanni often didn't care to use. And the lever was so bothersome...But a man bleeding to death was bad. So he twisted the key in the slot, opened the metal gate-type doors (the type that fold out), and stepped in with the man in blue and grey. He pulled the lever, and they were on their way up and out.

"He went to visit Destiny. The two of them are talking now, I think. If you can call it talking. How badly did Carmine get hurt?"

"Buh-bad. I don't knuh-know whuh-...whuh-...what to-" Azure didn't realize he was crying until he was hiccoughing from the lack of air, his nose runny.

Glanni put an arm around the poor man. Though there were old laws that kept Carmine alive, Azure was much too quick to blame himself when the thinner, taller man would throw himself under the bus to defend anything. "Shhhhh. I can take care of it, Azure, it's going to be alright. Everything's going to be alright."

"NO IT'S NUH-NOT! I cuh-can't do anything right!" Azure yelled, crying even harder. This only hurt the wound in his neck, and he clutched at it awkwardly. The lift came to a shuddering stop, and Glanni led the poor man back to the place where Carmine was.

-Meanwhile, in Destiny's Garden-

"So. Can you help me? I know you still owe me for this, Skripture." The nightmare with the white choppy hair and teeth for eyes pointed at the right eye of the version of Destiny that could talk. That version pulled its hood down, to reveal that it had no eye there, only a gaping hole with teeth marks. The other eye was a milky rich golden color with a nearly-black reddish pupil.

"Yes, I do owe you for delivering that item safely for me. Without that in play, I fear that things would not work out as well." He spoke, running a hand over his own shaved head. The strange being was careful to avoid the third eye in the middle of his forehead, which was simply a bright yellow pupil surrounded by the whites of the eye, with no iris. It slid closed, only able to see future events.

"Well, I need to stay awake. Or rather, I need to be like the people in LazyTown. Latibaer. Whatever it is. Or else Daniel will uncreate me."

"Daniel is dead." Skripture frowned, realizing that Destiny had fallen asleep on his shoulder. "Shit..."

"No, I know we shouldn't call him that anymore, but he's not dead."

"Daniel is dead. A soul is sometimes forced to pass on when it is dead, even if their body survives. Most of Daniel died the second he received the Emerald. As time went on, the rest of his soul faded until he was gone. Which means that a) he is somewhere else and we have to find him, and b) someone, or someTHING has taken his place. Most likely the Emerald. And if the Emerald has indeed taken his place in his body, then it is probably looking for the other dream stones to take more power for itself. It has no soul, and is therefore trying to build one. And without a soul, one cannot be a true member of the Endless. Oh, and c) none of this shit is written in our book, so we're out of luck in trying to figure out what will happen."

The Corinthian could feel its head nearly bursting at the seams from the new information. "FUCK! Then who's the dream lord now? If it isn't him?"

"The King of Dreams is obligated to not only carry some of his power as a dreamstone, but translate that power through the use of that person's own soul. If there is no soul to translate the power into what it was meant to be. It's like a battery. Sure, there's power in it, but it has to be properly connected by wires and connecters to make that power of any use. However, I have heard of one instance where a dreamstone was given a soul."

"Why would a dreamstone be given a soul?" Corinthian tilted his head.

"Well, I heard the child was going to die. It was born between the waking and the dreaming. Left right at the gate, with the dreamstone. Supposedly that's how they knew who the father was- the dreamstone was a gift passed down to him from someone else, who received it through another transaction. Apparently it passed through quite a few hands before it reached him. Unfortunately, that's all I know of the story." Skripture nudged Destiny, who only drooled on his robe.

"Why is he asleep?" Corinthian was FULL of questions.

"We both have to sleep, since it is not fair that we are both Destiny. Fortunately, there TECHNICALLY isn't a dream lord right now, so it's allowed for us both to be immortal. Otherwise, someone could kill me. But I'd still be immortal in the not-aging, not-decaying way."

Corinthian shook his head and laughed. "You're crazy."

"How am I crazy? It's true. I was created by one of the Endless, so it is true. Do you age? No. So don't question me."

"How in the heck were you 'made', Skripture?"

"I come from a large group of immortal creations. Thirteen, to be exact. Always thirteen of us."

"I'm not going to even bother asking. I think I get the idea. Is there anything you can do to help me?" Corinthian was getting tired of waiting, gritting all of his teeth in a false grin.

"I can, but I think there are others you need to worry about. While Cain cannot be killed in his current condition, Abel is still likely to be victimized constantly. After all, neither of them are fulfilling their proper roles in the Dreaming, and might soon be replaced. Which means that if Abel isn't given safety, he will be killed permanently. It is well within the Emerald's power to uncreate a dream or nightmare, and if left to do so, there will be a fundamental lack in the Dreaming that will force humans to compensate, and then they will not technically be sleeping."

"Wait. Is that like...sleepwalking?"

Skripture nodded dolefully. "Unfortunately, they must replace the lack of dreams, and create their own according to their wants and desires. People need something for their minds to do at night, and if there is no real REM sleep, where a dream happens in a few seconds at a time, then they must act out the dream."

All three of Corinthian's jaws dropped. "Then, the inhabitants of LazyTown..."

Skripture frowned. "They are disconnected from the main Dreaming. It is a safeguard that Morpheus put in for exactly this kind of emergency. He knew this would happen, and so he disconnected that town from the Dreaming in the hopes that it would not be corrupted."

"Why are you telling me all this?" Corinthian replied, his head lowered, "Isn't there a price on this information?"

Skripture shook his head. "I am telling you this so you can protect Nuala and all the other members of your small little island town. If I were to just send you back, you might kill her, not knowing she was there for a reason."

Corinthian's eyebrows knotted together, confused. "What is that reason?"

"As Thessaly would describe it, the inevitable. Fate. Hitsuzen. Destiny. Our job." He replied cryptically, pulling his hood back up. Skripture shook Destiny awake, then hid behind a hollow under the wall the two were sitting on.

"What's going on?" Corinthian asked, only to be waved in Skripture's direction. He hid next to the horrendously tall man with the third eye (there was barely room in the hollow, but he managed), and he soon discovered why.

"Brother Destiny, I have entered your garden because of a matter of great consequence. Will you speak with me?"

Corinthian soon realized that Skripture was acting as 'the man behind the curtain'. He held his breath, hoping not to be noticed.

"I hardly consider losing track of one of your little creations and then crying to me like the infamous Nobita-kun of Doraemon fame a 'matter of consequence', brother Dream." Skripture mimed, a skilled ventriloquist. Destiny lipsynched perfectly, as the two were linked by a force greater than blood relations. The effect- Daniel hadn't the slightest clue of what was really going on.

"I just meant to ask if he had sought you out for some reason, if perhaps you had seen him. Your rudeness is beyond unwarranted!" Daniel spat coldly, crossing his arms. He looked quite like the two-year-old throwing a tantrum.

Destiny smirked. "I wasn't aware it was my job to babysit."

"I KNOW that it is not your responsibility to look after my nightmares..." By now, Daniel was seeing red, eye twitching madly with rage.

_Time to go in for the kill_, Skripture thought with glee. "I was talking about you, Daniel."

"AAUGH! There's just no COMMUNICATION with you! Fine, I'll take my leave. I'll just assume you haven't seen Corinthian then, because then you wouldn't be harrassing me about blaming you for his disappearance!" With that, the Dream Lord stormed off, disappearing into the labyrinth. When he had completely left the realm of Destiny, Skripture could no longer hold back. He broke out in the loudest laughter he could manage, chuckling fit to burst. The poor man could scarcely contain himself, and after a few minutes it was so contageous that Corinthian had to join in. Destiny would have joined in, and perhaps did, but since he had sold his voice could only manage a hitching of breath. One hand clasped over his mouth to contain his humor, he pulled out a small chalkboard and tapped on it with a piece of chalk.

"What is it, Destiny?" Skripture finally managed.

Destiny wrote out his reply. "Corinthian's daytime disguise. I have a brilliant idea. How good is Robbie Rotten at costumes?" This coupled by Skripture's sudden devious grin led to a very concerned Corinthian. Skripture turned to the Nightmare, the very same idea in his mind. "Say, Corinthian, did you ever notice how much your name sounds like Corinne?"

Corinthian fainted.

* * *

\\_...__Kuroku yuganda ima wo yume, risou ni kaeru..._\\

* * *

The song is The World, by Nightmare.

It's the first opening theme for Death Note.

LYRICS TRANSLATION:

_A fruit has told me of the future,_

_This city has forgotten reason..._

_These distorted and black times will_

_Change into ideals, into dreams..._

AUTHOR NOTES:

I'm getting worse. Corinne Wood is an Original Character for one of my novels set somewhere in the 80's. She is a valley girl, has bleached hair, and is based ENTIRELY on the CORINTHIAN. I AM NOT KIDDING.

On reflection, I realize that I did not name Corinthan specifically in the last chapter, though it was obvious it was him. I mean, NOBODY ELSE has teeth for eyes. Really. But I did forget to name him, and for that I apologize. His 'color' name is Cornsilk, because it's the only yellow color that starts with the letters 'cor'. To distinguish from Cain/Carmine. So, that settles that.

Anyway, I think you can figure out what the next chapter is going to be.

AND I BLAME ROBBIE AND THAT MS DOUBTFIRE MOVIE ENTIRELY.

And my secret wish to get Sportacus dressed like Sumomo, only blue.

Reviews, pleeze?


	7. Stephen King's Basement

Doraemon: Had to write some of this before the release of the last chapter. Couldn't resist. I had to use a quote by Wanda. HAD to.

Please forgive me.

* * *

_"It's like we fell down the rabbit hole, woke up in ... I don't know. Stephen King's basement."_

Wanda, in SANDMAN #34: "Bad Moon Rising"

* * *

\\_Young teacher, the subject_

_Of schoolgirl fantasy_

_She wants him so badly_

_Knows what she wants to be..._\\

* * *

Robbie woke up over a sewing machine, some thread sewn clear through his thumb. He had forgotten when he had fallen asleep, but he recalled a few vagaries of his dream. And looked up at the sky with pity.

"Dear Higher Authority, what unGodly horror have I unleashed upon humanity?" he squinted, "-And don't you DARE shout back anything about a second Ms Doubtfire- Goddamnit. I get the idea. Fourth wall, clearly broken. But that's the point, isn't it? You..."

Suddenly Robbie realized that not only was there no fourth wall here, but he was talking to a 'Higher Authority' whose main MO was providing the same free will that God Himself (or Herself) provides. This he determined from all the other books that said Authority kept in the Dreaming's expansive library until there was time to write out the words in the real world. He sighed in angst.

"Screw you. Whoever you are."

The thing beyond the Other Circle of the Sky smiled. And went to do chores.

-At The Schoolhouse-

"I hear we have new teachers." Pixel whispered from his seat. "I still don't understand why our health teacher isn't Sportacus."

The timid brown-haired woman in the gray dress and brown old-fashioned button-up boots at the front of the room narrowed her eyes at the boy, whacking her ruler to the board gently and repetitively to call the class's attention.

"Pixel, if you wish to discuss the change in staff, then perhaps you could do so at lunch." She then drew a group of several foods on the board, turning to the class. "And I doubt learning health from an elf with diabetes is a good idea for growing children your age. Diabetics not only have a much more active lifestyle, they also have a much stricter diet that lacks in much of the necessary nutrients that growing children like yourselves need."

"I'm sorry, Miss Pála. But how do you know that Sportacus has diabetes?"

The woman pulled her hair back, her tired eyes scanning the room. Trixie was glaring at her darkly, nursing a spitball. Stephanie had her head slightly turned to the side, wondering who the teacher reminded her of. Stingy was counting his lunch money, Ziggy was listening intently.

"Well, I've earned an Associate's in Science in Nursing, and I've been here long enough to see the signs. He wears special boots, he almost passed out from eating a piece of candy, he relies mostly on strict exercise, I've hardly seen him eat anything other than vegetables and bread and milk, he wears the same blue as the universal symbol for diabetes..." She continued writing on the board, drawing circles around certain categories that included the most and the least sugars. Canned cling peaches fell into the more sugars category, where less-ripened fruits fell into the category of less sugars. A spitball landed against the back of her head.

"You're no prize yourself."

She spun around, eyes steeled over with a cloudy bluish rage. "WHO just said that? I have my fair share of problems, but at least I visit a DOCTOR and LEARN about my health, instead of just running around, teaching children that they ALL should be following the SAME diet, instead of following what is medically necessary for THEM, like getting enough complex sugars in their diet so they actually REACH puberty at the RIGHT TIME!"

The whole class just stared at the woman, suddenly aware that most of her physical quirks were attributed to a similar condition. She was horribly thin, wore a thin blue-grey knit cap constantly, and looked very pale, as if she never showed skin. Her whole body resembled that of a very young girl who had suddenly sprung long arms and legs, still leaving her rather chestless and without any of the tell-tale womanly changes, such as hips or leg hair. The only sign that she was an adult woman was her eyelashes and long hair, which proceeded halfway down her back in a long river-like cascade. She was very much like a brunette Twiggy, thin and tall and spindly.

"I said it, Miss Pála." Trixie said, raising her hand timidly.

Miss Pála only rubbed at the sore bridge of her nose right between the eyes, trying to massage a headache that was forming. The ringing of the bell didn't help things. "I imagine everyone only gets to be young once. You're forgiven. Remember to study Chapter Two in your green textbooks, okay? There is a short review at the end that we'll be going over in class tomorrow."

The children now had a short 10-minute break for study. She snuck out the door, bumping into one of the new teachers, who was two inches taller than her and reminded her of an 80's version of Miss Frizzle. Bleach-blonde big curls, white feminine boots that continued up to the thigh, and a yellow polka-dot dress with star-shaped aquamarine buttons.

"You're the new teacher, right?" She shrunk next to the taller woman.

The woman with the curls pushed the dark-lensed glasses she was wearing closer to her face. "Of course. I get to teach Art. What do you teach?"

"Oh, no fair. They love Art. Art and Music. They hate health. The only person they seem to worship when it comes to health is that diabetic freak who jumps around like he owns the place. He's never saved me, and I'm probably the one who needs it the most. I'm sick." She cradled herself, looking at the ground.

"Mmm, that's terrible, sweetie. What's your name?" The new teacher tilted the other lady's chin up gently with one manicured nail, smiling warmly.

"Pála. Pála Geireirgrímur. What's yours?"

"I'm Corinne. Corinne Wood. I was born in Australia, moved to California about seven years ago to attend an art college, loved it so much I stayed there until just last year. I just made my way to this portion of Iceland- I used to live in a lovely little town named Hafnir, but it was a little too close to the airport, and the planes were very distracting. So I moved here. It's very quiet here."

"Really? You seem familiar, somehow. Have we met before?" The shorter girl furrowed her brow, twirling her hair around her finger.

"I was going to say the same thing. Perhaps an internet chat room?" It wasn't darned likely, but it was a possibility. One of the only ones. Corinne tilted her head.

The bell rang. Corinne never got an answer, as the woman bolted for the exit. Obviously the sound of bells was beginning to grate on her nerves. Corinne entered the classroom slowly, looking at the children. It was like two wild dogs circling each other, staring each other down.

"Um, hi. I'm Corinne Wood. I'll be your new Art teacher. Unless you didn't have one, in which case- I'll still be your new Art teacher."

Blank stares. Some balls of paper being crumpled.

"Okay, fine. I get it. New teacher = fresh meat. We'll be working with a new subject every week. Everything from a color to a style of art. Even a common object like a tree or lamp." The new teacher set her belongings on the desk, and turned around to write her name on the board. It RAINED school supplies upon her back.

Without turning around, Corinne continued. "...I suppose I didn't mention that you'll be able to listen to the radio every day while you work on your assignments? Or that your first assignment would be creating your own creative name-tag for the drawers that will contain all your artworks for the year?"

The pelting ceased, and someone had snuck to the radio. When the teacher turned around, everyone was seated, twiddling their thumbs. "Your first assignment starts with these pieces of paper..." She handed them out, making sure every child got one. Corinne noticed that the classroom was ridiculously big for the amount of children there- you had the teacher's pet girl with the pink hair, the computer-obsessed dark-skinned kid who thought he was smart, the Augustus Gloop of the class, the prep boy, and the school bully, who was surprisingly a girl. Only five kids- where were the other children? The teacher grabbed a big basket of art supplies- paints, brushes, stones, crayons, glue, pencils, pens, markers, flowers, candies, beads, coins...thousands of things that could be used.

Corinne watched the kids settle into their own groove, getting a feel for who they were. The boy with the prep outfit and the Ryan Seacrest hair grabbed a bunch of coin and sparkly items, a yellow marker, glitter glue and a glue stick, screaming 'MINE!', then running back to his desk. He did not give back any of the items, either, when he was done. The bully girl was a LOT smarter. She immediately grabbed the glue gun, a rubber band, a small y-shaped twig and some pebbles, as well as a calligraphy pen with red ink that was usually used by professional manga artists. The techie kid settled for a silver sharpie, some odd-looking orange and green beads, and black electrical tape. The chubby kid grabbed some chocolate-brown paint, some pale cream-colored embossing powder, some ink especially for embossing, and one of those heat guns. He also had a handful of candy that he set aside for later. Corinne was amazed at his ingenuity, for such a young boy. But was he as young as he looked? She didn't care- most people didn't know how to emboss anything until well into their thirties, when their children were already too old to think their parents were any fun to spend time with, and they had to settle for gathering in scrap-booking clubs and tupperware parties. The last girl (Stephanie, was it?), picked a bunch of pink cherry blossoms and other pink flowers, using little metal brads to stick them to the piece of white paper. She found a cherry, squished it, and made marks with the juice all over the paper. Then the pink-haired girl took a hot-pink highlighter, and wrote her name in a cute cursive signature. Outlining it in gold gel pen, she finished first.

"Teacher, MY coins won't stick to MY paper! And the yellow is all funny since I put the glue on it!" Seacrest-hair shouted. Corinne grabbed another glue gun, coming to his rescue. "School glue only holds paper to paper when it's dry, Stingy- it's Stingy, right? Anyway, other items should be attached with a glue gun, which heats up this strong plastic glue stick to form a bond between the paper and the coins here. But don't touch the tip of the glue gun, or it will burn you. Got it?"

Stingy nodded, happier than he was earlier. While she was talking, the earlier glue marks dried in coin-mark patterns, which made him happy. He followed her instructions after she plugged in the glue gun, and Corinne made sure that he didn't burn himself. Of course, someone else had to while she had her back turned.

"-SHIT!" The bully girl ripped the glue gun's cord from the socket quickly, propping it up. "ICE- do you have ice?!"

Corinne readied a cold cloth faster than Trixie could move. Luckily, her burn was cooled so quickly that there was only a small red blister left from the incident. It was quickly covered with aloe vera and a band-aid. "Thank you, Ms Wood."

"How did you burn yourself, anyway?" The teacher inquired, checking the hand for further injury.

Trixie waved her other hand in front of her face in embarrassment. "It was nothing, really...I was trying to use the glue gun to heat the tip of the calligraphy pen so the ink would flow more freely- because usually that's done with a lighter, but we're not allowed to use those in school...and the glue gun slipped a bit."

Corinne was pissed. "The glue gun isn't a toy you can just use for any heating job! It is only for glue, and you could have seriously hurt yourself if you didn't already know how to use a glue gun...And your parents can hold me legally responsible! I could lose my job!"

"Fine, I see your side of the issue..." Trixie glared, "...But then how do I get the ink out of the tip so I can write with it?"

Corinne got close enough to whisper in her ear. "Next time, ask me to fix it. They let the teachers have lighters." Trixie smiled at this, and continued with her work.

"Ms Wood? I can't figure out how to get these beads to stick." The kid's hair looked like Cheetos. She noticed his lack of glue- only tape.

"They won't just stick to paper. They're cooled solid plastic."

"How do I make them stick?"

"You have to use glue. Or some sort of fastener."

"I don't want to. It will show. And then it'll look lame!"

Corinne wanted to kill him. She ripped out her lighter and a tweezer, holding the bead with the tweezer and melting the bottom of the bead enough so it would stick. She did this with all his beads, leaving a space in the middle for his name. "There. Give me difficulty like that again, Frylock, and you'll spend the entire week in detention for Art. Then you will get an incomplete for any project done in that time." She told him, putting the items away.

"Did you just call me FRYLOCK? You're a TEACHER! You're supposed to set an EXAMPLE!!!"

"Then maybe you shouldn't wear your hear so unruly in a classroom setting. It is disrespectful. Because it DOES make you look like Frylock."

"I don't believe this! I'm telling my parents!"

"Really? I don't suppose they'd believe you, considering your record of past incidents. Your parents already know you are argumentative with teachers, so why should this be any different?" Corinne spat, her voice eerily deep, like the bubbling chatter of some monster come to eat him up.

Pixel was silent. Dead silent. No teacher had ever defended themselves so voraciously. He shut his trap immediately, continuing his work silently.

Corinne wandered by Ziggy's desk, looking at his work. The boy had dried brown paint with the heat gun in a dripping chocolate pattern for the background, and candies were glued to the edges. He was now dumping a small bit of embossing powder over the pale ink he had written his name with over the brown background, dumping the excess back into the jar. She wondered if he should be doing this on his own. "Sweetie, do you want some help with that?" The teacher offered. Ziggy smiled indulgently, overjoyed to have been called 'sweetie' because of his sweet tooth, and shook his head lightly. "No thank you, Ms Corinne. Do you like it? I like candy, so I made it looks like candy."

Corinne could only smile warmly. "I can tell that. It looks very nice. Still, maybe it could use a few sparkles, like sugar?" Ziggy's eyes widened excitedly.

"Yeah! There could be little sugar sparkles here and there, on the lettering...not too much, though- that would look so good! Thank you!" He grinned, using the heat gun on the lettering. It got real pretty and embossed-like. Not quite sure how to describe that. Corinne got him some sparkles that would work for his project, helping him attach them at certain spots. When the two finished, it looked like his name was written in sugar and white chocolate on a chocolate-colored background. Ziggy was happy with the result, and hugged Corinne. She patted him on the head, then looked around at the other children's work. Pixel had made his name with small pieces of black electrical tape shaped like computer pixels, and his piece looked rather uncreative otherwise, since the teacher had put on the beads for him. Stephanie's looked like cherry trees were growing on it, and her name was outlined prettily in the gold gel pen. She was doodling on her hand with the gold pen now, bored. Trixie's had a slingshot on it, along with her name in both kanji and English, and a doodle of a little anime girl's face. Stingy's had coins stuck to it, some cheap plastic gems, and his name written in gold glitter glue.

They all chose their own drawers and had attached their new nametags just as the bell rang. The children took half of their break cleaning up the art supplies, then sat in their desks to await the next teacher, the Music teacher.

Corinne made her way out the door, spotting the teacher. It was a shorter blonde woman, her outfit a white and black gothic lolita number that had red and blue accents, with blue heels. Her hair had two pigtails with red ribbons woven into them, and her necklace and earrings were little red fleur-de-lis on a silver chain. She had a whole bag of music books. Corinne's jaw dropped.

"YOU are not the music teacher. I'm hallucinating. This is all just a nightmare." The art teacher held up her hands in resignation and disbelief.

"Oh, I am the new music teacher. Eyrún Eydslukló. And maybe you're a nightmare, but I'm not. So don't go calling Eyrún names." She pouted, crossing her arms.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Eyrún. If that IS your real name. So buzz off. You'll win my affections if you manage to get Pixel, AKA the kid who looks like Frylock, to like your class." Corinne scoffed, turning away. The bell rang again.

"Piece of cake!" Eyrún snapped, peering into the class, then turning back for a second. "My God, he IS like Frylock! Wish me luck!"

"With your name, you won't need it." Corinne told the teacher before she stepped foot in the room.

"My name is Eyrún Eydslukló. Who wants to play an instrument...like...electric guitar?"

-Continents Away...-

Somewhere in Japan, Thessaly looked up from her new abode, a wish-granting shop, plugging her ears. A Japanese boy with dark hair and mismatched eyes looked at her curiously, then looked up to the sky.

"What is that sound? It sounds like there's a party nearby..." he cupped a hand to his ear, trying to decipher it.

Larissa, AKA Thessaly, AKA Yuuko Ichihara, just narrowed her eyes at him. "Ignore it. It's some stupid kids in Iceland that are happy enough that they could quite literally explode. Some tramp thought it was a good idea to teach kids how to play electric guitar and stuff like that. The poor people in Liverpool must be deaf by now."

The boy looked up at the sky, dressed in his usual housecleaning outfit. "They must have some lungs on them. How do you know these things, anyway?"

Larissa sighed, holding her head. "Well, if the two involved with THAT town are actually FORCED to come here, I will be pissed. I don't want to have to deal with anyone involved with that infuriating man ever again."

"Is this about that Clow guy again?" He tightened the hankerchief around his head, shaking the dust off the duster he held.

She snorted. "Sure. You could say that." Yuuko wouldn't be surprised if the two men were one in the same. They were both irritating enough.

"Should I get the liquor?" He asked her, sighing.

Thessaly nodded. Today, liquor was a must. An absolute neccessity.

-After School-

"Sportacus, Sportacus! We had the coolest teacher! She was teaching us how to play instruments and everything!" Pixel was bordering on Ziggy-like hyperness, waving his arms in the air. Sportacus only looked at him.

"I thought you liked video games."

"I do, I do, but this is awesome too! They never teach this stuff at school!"

"So you don't like sports anymore?" Sportacus looked crushed.

Pixel let out a long and ragged sigh. Sportacus didn't get it at all. Obviously he was homeschooled. "It's just that everything at school is normally really boring because the teachers are stupid or the subject is useless."

Sportacus was in shock. "What a horrible thing to say about those that are older than you! Have you no respect? And in school, every subject is important!"

Pixel smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. Sportacus was clueless sometimes. "Being an adult does not give you the right to all the worship you want. Hitler. Rasputin. Jack the Ripper."

"You have a point there..." this set Sportacus on edge. "...Uh, hey, who wants to play soccer?"

This saved him. The children played until dark, then were ushered home.

The sun set, and the moon rose.

When Cornsilk awoke, he screamed until he could not scream any more. He ripped the wig off his head, and ran for Glanni's house in the group of underground houses underneath Latibaer.

"WHY THE F&$%#K AM I DRESSED IN DRAG, YOU SICK PERVERT?!"

"You don't remember?" Glanni sighed in irritation. "It was all the idea of Destiny's monk-like twin. Quite clever, if you ask me. They think you're the new Valley Girl Ms Frizzle." Glanni inspected his own injured hand.

"Oh dear Lord." Cornsilk clasped his hands over his face. "They at least thought I was a chick, right? They couldn't tell it was me?"

Glanni guided him to a mirror, replacing the wig. Cornsilk was so shocked he found himself checking for his manhood. Still there, thank goodness. But seriously, he would have been catcalling at what he saw in the mirror if it wasn't himself. "Damn, I look pretty good, don't I?"

The other man looked away, creeped out. "How would *I* know?"

Cornsilk looked at him. "Oh, that's right. You're, like, totally gay!- OH GOD THE CLOTHES ARE CONTAGEOUS!" He ran around looking for his non-valley-girl regular outfit. He could hear the words "AM NOT," shouted a little too late to be convincing, when he finally found his troll outfit. Changing quickly, he folded up the girly outfit and stuffed it in the bag. "Now what?"

Glanni scoffed. "I'm not gay."

"SURE you're not, Tim Gunn."

Glanni wanted to stab him. "Get out of my house. And don't be telling people I'm gay."

"So you are gay?" He ran off, as Glanni was trying to throw a heavy sewing machine at him. Not a gun or a rock or Thor's hammer or anything manly, no. A SEWING MACHINE.

-Above Ground-

Íþróttaálfurinn found himself wandering around LazyTown, eventually settling for trying to help Maggi stay upight, as the poor boy was having one of those days where his long, thin legs didn't want to cooperate, and he just toppled over a bunch of times.

Cornsilk chose this moment to come running over, screaming, "Glanni Gay! Glanni Gay!" Maggi only pointed at him, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

The elf stopped in his tracks. "What. The..."

"Glanni's gay, he likes men..." Cornsilk sang, running around.

"...Really?" The sports elf looked pensive.

"-DRAG QUEEN!" Maggi finally managed, collapsing to the ground again.

Cornsilk looked at the boy. "You- YOU! You're the drag queen! I just had to come up with a disguise!"

"Excuse me, but I am not a drag queen. It's physically impossible for me to be one."

Cornsilk stared at Maggi for a moment. Then, he decided to lift the front of the kid's shirt. The chest was bound in ace bandages. "You're a girl?"

"I'm a hermaphrodite. Born with both genders. I don't like to be both genders at once, though. It confuses people. See the elf?" Maggi pointed at Íþróttaálfurinn, who had passed out from shock. "I hide such things for his sanity."

Cornsilk nodded. "Makes sense. Then- you're Pála too. You just have a different name for each gender."

"Yes. I used to live in Maine under the names Paul, and Mary. Pála is a female form of Paul, and Maggi was the only name that sounded similar to Mary that was male that I could think of."

"You said you were sick." Corinthian glared. It was a statement, a demand. Not a question.

"I am. I made a fitting last name to go with it."

"You did?" Cornsilk tilted his head.

"Geir means spear, or lance. Eir was a goddess of healing, the best doctor of the Norse gods." Maggi pulled off his hat, to reveal longer, feminine hair and two very deep scars, one above each eye. Deep like holes. Points of penetration. Lobotomy scars.

Cornsilk nodded, biting his thumb so deep it bled. "You'd make a very nice nightmare. Then, what's the 'Grímur' part of your female name?"

Maggi laughed. "It means 'Disguised Man'."

Cornsilk couldn't help but laugh. "Why the names Paul and Mary, then?"

"Shut up." Maggi had stopped laughing.

"What?" Cornsilk questioned.

Maggi put his hat back on. Didn't even bother tucking the longer hair back in the hat- just pulled the brim low over his forehead. "That part of my life is dead. I don't want to remember back that far."

"You don't care about using your lobotomy as a basis for your name, but you still don't want to confront your past?" Cornsilk begged for some sort of information.

"There are worse things than lobotomy..." Maggi sighed, looking skyward. Tears trickled down his face.

"What?" Cornsilk demanded, gripping his shoulder.

Maggi shuddered, his eyes tightening and his head tilting down.

"Stephen King's basement."

Cornsilk suddenly understood. "Kingdom Hospital." He cradled the poor boy, hoping to somehow shove away the child's pain. Every road led to the Dreaming, and he remembered those nightmares that included the children of that world, their unconscious so terribly tied to the aversion of mirrors ever since they had been so horribly tortured. Even the self-proclaimed 'guardian' of the children was lying through his teeth, leading the children to their own deaths. Many had fled from that world for better places, and this child was one- no, two- of the people that escaped with their soul. Paul Morlock, the brains of the hospital, and Mary Jensen, its heart. Cornsilk was glad that some had managed to escape, even if they had to pair up into one body just to pass the restraints of the Four Walls.

"I've been living with Glanni. In the mornings, I don't have a place to live."

Cornsilk frowned. "You should live with Corinne, then."

"Why- You don't consider yourself Corinne?"

"I had to become like the inhabitants of LazyTown. Corinne is just a dream-self, or something. I'm like two sides of a mirror now, instead of just the dark side of one. Two sides to every coin."

"That's so cool. I have to share my consiousness. Mary herself can't sleep because of the lobotomy. So we are essentially of one mind, one soul. It hurts."

"I hope Delirium hasn't been too cruel." Cornsilk muttered.

"Oh, no, I love the poor dear! She's the only thing keeping me from losing myself every single day."

-The Next Day-

"What a strange dream..." Corinne muttered. She rose to the smell of breakfast cooking...Breakfast? Cooking? There was a note.

_Don't freak out. Pála is homeless. So she's staying with you. She is repaying you by acting as a personal chef. And no, she won't burn down the house._

_Sincerely,_

_Look in the mirror._

She looked in the mirror. What the hell had happened to her hair? It was short and straight and choppy and manly and...oh. Oh dear. The mirror was not a mirror in the traditional sense. She reached to her own head to feel that the curls and long gorgeous locks were still there. The 'reflection', as expected, did not move in the same way. It picked up one rough hand and waved, smiling with three sets of teeth. A nightmare during the day- what did you call that? The mirror image's beauty drew her, and she could smell the scent of corn husks deep in its soft hair...

...No. This was a dream. A bad dream, one that could hurt her. She slapped herself, and the mirror was now displaying what it properly should. She heard Pála calling her to breakfast, and decided not to ask. Perhaps ignorance was bliss.

Well, no. Pála's cooking was bliss. Ignorance of whatever weirdness was going on was only a mild giggle in the shadow of the pure ecstacy that was Pála's cooking. Corinne decided that she could stay as LO-O-ONG as she wanted, no matter who the girl was.

* * *

\\_...__Inside her there's longing_

_This girl's an open page_

_Book marking - she's so close now_

_This girl is half his age..._\\

* * *

Song by the Police. DON'T STAND SO CLOSE TO ME.

(Best song ever.) ((There's a LazyTown video for the song on the interwebz.))

AUTHOR NOTES:

EEHEEHEE! Corinthian is a narcissist!

Cling peaches is a reference to an episode of Six Feet Under, aptly named 'Eat a Peach'. I was watching the show, and decided the beginning deserved to be referenced since it was so poetic.

The creepy thing is that really- in the plays, the actor who plays Red Hat Troll's part is the same guy who plays Maggi Mjoi. And there are no teachers. So there HAD to be teachers. And...well...KINGDOM HOSPITAL.

There's no way to sugar-coat that one.

KINGDOM HOSPITAL, aka RIGET.

There were two characters that I absolutely ADORED, and BOTH reminded me of Maggi Mjoi, so both were the inspiration. Paul Morlock always wore suspenders and old brown boots. ALWAYS. And his hair...All we had to do was add color to his outfit. And Mary was always so fragile, so beat up and still so thin and pretty, with long hair that showed her lobotomy scars (which had a creepy, haunting beauty in and of themselves.).

It's truly a great series, only 15 episodes long sadly. Riget is not much longer, but I never saw it, and it's a bit different. Kingdom Hospital is basically just Riget, USA. And Kingdom Hospital is a good plot device for LazyTown.

I'm one of Stephen King's biggest non Annie Wilke-type fans.

For those, that don't know Annie Wilke...MISERY.

But yeah, I totally didn't know that was the same actor.

KOOOOOKY.

Next chapter: Speaking of Kingdom Hospital, we see why Bessie, or Stina(?), isn't seen too often in Latibaer. Yes, speaking of Kingdom Hospital.

Hey, get back here! *sobs* I can see you running away!

Review, please?


	8. Ain't No Rest For The Wicked

Bast: I am so happy for all my reviews! *passes out hugs*

Today's chapter shall catalogue the advent of my "Ernest Hemingway", or "Kurt Vonnegut", debut. I solemnly swear by the Light and the Other Circle Of The Sky to kill the very concept of Mary Sue to the best of my abilities, so help me Almighty Creator of Creators.

In short, I'm writing myself into the story. Sorry everyone!

Oh, and "Skrip" is epic win for a nickname. I was sick of referring to his full name- too much typing. Thank you!

Also, Bessie Busybody. I don't take kindly to her. She makes me ill to my ill-prone belly, despite how fondly I feel her pain. Buh. I still love her character, though. And she is the most amusing. I don't really think she's fat. I've seen fat: she's not fat. So, clearing up any crap I get later. I like her, but she sickens me.

* * *

_"Father? I am your son. That is only a kitten. Why do you abandon me to chase after it?"_

_"When you were alive, you were all my joy. Now you are dead. I see you only in my dreams. And when I awake my pillow is wet with tears. The kitten is living, and it needs my help."_

Reality shifts in the Soft Places, in SANDMAN #74, "The Exile"

* * *

\\_You know there ain't no rest for the wicked, money don't grow on trees; _

_We got bills to pay, we got mouths to feed- Ain't nothing in this world for free..._\\

* * *

"...Skripture? Skripture...there's something with the book." Destiny tapped out in morse code. Skrip only rolled over, letting out a humming sigh, his two remaining eyelids flickering slightly. Destiny thought this was getting old. And, well, having been acting the mature party for the entire family of the Endless- it grated on his nerves from time to time. Why did the others act so infantile? Why did they find it so enjoyable?

"-AAAACK! Owwie!" Skripture rubbed at his head where he had fallen. He looked around, his eyes eventually landing on Destiny when he had found no other culprit. "Did you just- no-o-o, couldn't be. Do you know who pushed me?"

Oh. Tee-hee. FUN.

Destiny left it at that, showing him the Book. Skripture's head tilted to the side like a lost puppy.

_"Syntax error- Connection to September 10 Server Lost. Syntax error- All Connection re-establish. Syntax error- Files corrupt. Continue anyway? Y/N..."_

Skrip's heart jumped. NOT good! NOT GOOD! "NO! Do NOT continue!"

_"YYYYYYYYYYYYYYY. Establishing logistics matrix. Re-configuring files. Please wait...((loading bar=true))((hourglass=true))...New Server Establish. Syntax error- SERVER LOST. New Server Establish...Syntax error- SERVER LOST..."_

The two looked at each other, though Destiny really couldn't see his twin self, and Skrip had no depth perception because he only had one eye left. Still, they vaguely turned to each other, their eyes not quite focused in the right places. Out of his good eye, Skripture could make out the vagaries of an approaching figure. He only knew of two that visited the garden, and he hazarded a guess from the essence that the figure gave off.

"Lucien?"

"Nope, sweetie, but close. Anyway, I drew you a picture."

He froze. It was a voice he fondly remembered from his creation.

"Giving Tree! How good it is to see you!" he ran up to the milk-pale figure, which reeked of soymilk shampoo, crushed leaves, and plump figs. He wrapped his arms fondly around the- Girl? She was quite strong and lean for a girl, had none of the curves except for the feminine smoothness of her skin, and her muscles felt like gnarled wood with chlorophyll running deep through them. Tree. She was more of a tree than a 'she'. Skripture nearly fell and smooshed the girl when he realized he was at least a whole foot and a half taller than the woman, who could be considered older than him, though she should have been dead already.

He put her at arm's length to study her further. Very bright aquamarine eyes, with small mud smears locked deep inside. White skyward-bound hair from albinism. Cheeks and nose now burnt green from the old sun of the garden. Ears pointed skyward, the very tips twisted like the root of a fig tree made to grow in a spiral. Both held feather quills now. Her outfit was a very long purple T-shirt with the word EMO in all caps stylized across the chest and over the shoulder diagonally. At least, on her it was long. To her knees. It belonged to someone who did and didn't exist, and was surely fading. It was all she wore- she had walked the path barefoot.

"I would have thought you would have appeared as-" Destiny wrote out quickly, interrupted before he could finish.

"I forgot, I don't use this form any more, do I? Funny, the things you forget in reincarnation. I can't appear as Lady Bast, Destiny, not that I would want to anymore. I'm not all here, there are two parties missing. And I miss them very muchly. I'm also sad that Robert Crowley is not Robert Crowley. But that is that. This is this." She took a seat next to Destiny, picked up his book with closed eyes (much to his protest), and began to write in her own metal-tainted plant blood. Her own thoughts filled the page like a poison, banishing the syntax errors of loose ends, tears in the fabric of reality, and gaping holes in the multiverse with one fell swoop.

_I realize. I realize now that change IS inevitable, and that humans rely too much on consistency. It is that pain, that fear of not knowing, that fear of not experiencing the same thing exactly the same way twice that will haunt humanity. But that is what we are here for. To change, to heal from the fall from grace, the forbidden fruit tasting, the whine and angst of the first Brothers. Is change really necessary, you ask? We are born, we live, we die. The only thing that is constant is the rule of three. Any less and you've got a Godless world. Any more, and you're kicking someone who belongs there out of the equation. But the true question is- who belongs here? It is the refusal to change that is death. But Death in itself is change. And so changes everyone around it. A corpse does not simply melt away, it turns into dust. Compost. A tree? A flower? Life. A bird's home. A nest. A cradle. Baby makes three. Chirp-chirp-chirp....._

_Destiny forcefully separated the now-delirious woman from the book, who was now drenched and frozen extensively by the plant-eating metals. She refused to speak of their origin, but from what they could tell, it was something not to be discussed at this time. Del bounced on her toes, her colorful hair threatening to rival the tree's in size and airiness, butterflies and fishes swimming among its coral abyss._

"My baby!" Delirium latched onto the girl like a life raft. In fact, she was wearing a life raft dress. "How's you?"

The Giving Tree smiled upward. "Pretty dress. You guys need more Envoys like Skripture. He's~ so~ big! Like a tall~ giant~ mountain! Skrip~ture! Such a pretty name! Kawaii, kawaii..." She began to dance with Delirium, who was now dressed in a giant spotted Pikachu shirt and a tutu with one half wool leggings and one half fishnets. Both had the one-toothed Geta sandal usually worn by mountain priests and tengu alike. Skripture sighed.

"So, is she going to keep calling me an envoy? I know I should technically be referred to as one, as well as the others, but I find it highly insulting to those made by all the Endless, such as Eblis O'Shaughnessy, as not only am I off-the-books, but I am only created by one." He tapped Destiny on the nose, then tapped his chalkboard.

Destiny sighed. It was not often that he delved into the affairs of mortals, but those who were forced to hop dimensions by route of reincarnation needed guidance. When he did, he found himself drawn into something that was never in the books. He would have never known that such a thing as a Thessalian existed if he had not had the Giving Tree pop up as a young Envoy of a mortal, crafted from blood and song and heartache and poisoned metals herself. He was never made aware of such things until they involved him, and when a little girl who called herself Miki asked for a chalk drawing from each member of his family, he had no idea that these figures were part of a bigger plan.

It wasn't until years later that an older version of the girl popped out of his floor, pulling along a three-eyed monk named Skripture, who instantly ran around the house like an art fanatic at the Louvre at three minutes to closing. And of course, all Skripture's eyes had to be a different color. Right eye silver, left eye gold, third eye yellow like the numbers on the clock on his chest that emulated his emotions. Not to mention a halo of gold and silver orbs that seemed to be mere decoration, because later he inquired the chalk version of him why he no longer had them floating over his head, and the only response he got was "Headache." And that was the end of that.

Then she left, and never reappeared until now.

"Skripture, you never saw the pretty picture I drew of you!" the tree spoke, holding out a drawing. He inspected it with his one good eye. And paled.

"Buh. Thank God Destiny is blind." He buried his face in his hands, his ears burning a deep mulberry pink.

"What?" Delirium looked at it, poking the paper. "It's very tasteful. I like the blushy-ness. And tree-lady does really good collarbones!"

"GIVE ME THAT!" Skrip snatched it away, burying it somewhere in his cloak. "Please, stop drawing me. Luckily nothing important is showing, or I'd really tear you to pretty ribbons!"

Destiny decided not to explain the concept of fanart FOR fanfiction. He flipped through the pages, finally reaching the mark where he had left off.

-LazyTown-

Bessie Busybody awoke from the same nightmare she had every night. Every single frigging night for the rest of her life, and she blamed it all on the man who had single-handedly destroyed her hopes and dreams. Forced her to build a new one. Every single night, it was the same dark, dank, wet and drippy hallway filled with cobwebs and littered with dead mice. And she held the gun.

_But that wasn't the scary part. The nightmare part was when she saw him walk in, scars still fresh on his face, but his hair much longer, wavy. Still white-blonde. He never looked at her, never answered her when she called out his name. Suddenly the hallway was an airplane, and the Ant-Bear-Monster thing that watched in the corner was suddenly a man in a hideous bunny suit that was somehow worse. The man who she once considered her soulmate, who called her a fat cow and a pelvis-equipped moving van, was now one of the only pilots left on a plane that was, unfortunately, a flying bomb. And she was forced to memorize every slow second of the explosion as tissue and sinew and bone and muscle separated, soon nothing but ashes. And then it was an old hospital again in flames, and the bunny-suit man was now a young boy looking at his hands dripping with blood and the bleeding doctor below him, wondering which half of him really killed the doctor, then realizing the fire was too close to worry about that. All the exits were blocked, he had already checked. Burn by fire, drown in saline tank. Fire, water, fire? No, definitely not. Preserve evidence of the gross negligence. Drowning it was. The boy committed suicide, and again she was forced to watch as soon there was only blood coming from his mouth instead of bubbles._

And then she woke up, screaming and crying and scrambling to draw the boy that drowned himself because she always got the impression that he was so familiar, but it always faded the second her eyes adjusted to the image of the kids playing outside with Sportacus. Within an instant, she forgot everything that was Brenda Abelson, and had returned to her own happy reality. That jerk was probably still alive, not all exploded in some horrible accident, and he would probably never search her out to insult her ever again. Now she had Milford, who was completely under the influence of the love potions that she had spiked his coffee with. She had always wanted to be a mayor's wife. Maybe sometime he would get his head outta his arse and propose sometime. She'd have to adjust the potion.

The doorbell rang, and she was confronted with a stuttering, shaking version of Vincent Price. Dressed in postman blue, the man reached into the mailbag with a shaking hand. "Y-yuh-your letters, muh-Miss." he stuttered, handing her a rather large bundle of mail in a rubber band. On second hand, there were other fish to fry...why not? She grabbed the letters, offering him a seat.

"Oh nuh-no, miss. I-I-I'm on a cuh-clock, and uh- if-uh-muh-my boss suh-sees me nuh-not working..." His heart fell when the door was shut behind him with a click. Held Prisoner. No brother to save him. Though that wasn't usually how it worked, he felt it was the right thing to think. The house reeked of fake magic and the powerful human nature of wanting things so badly they happened on their own, no matter how horrible the result. It made him ill. "Tea? I'm on one of my days off, so I'd be happy to put on a pot. I haven't seen you in LazyTown before."

"Nuh-no! No, puh-puh-please...I just want tuh-to get buh-back to work..."

The woman laughed. "You're not missing a red Swingline stapler by any chance, are you? What is your name, by the way?" She made tea anyway. The kettle squeaked in protest against the metal stovetop. He wanted to cry. She was likening him to Milton. Nobody had made fun of him in this way. His brother was often one for killing, but never cruel emotional damage. He thought of suicide, if his brother would miss him. Probably, maybe not. Name? He hadn't thought of one. "Puh-Pósturinn." he tried. Bessie set a cup of tea in front of him.

"Not a name. That's Icelandic for Postman. I can tell what you DO, I wanted to know your name."

"Aoijiro." he finally told her, handling the teacup as if looking into the past through its watery contents with much grief. Ms. Busybody tilted her head. "Japanese? You don't look it. That's the first thing I've heard you speak without a stutter."

He looked at her blankly, then at the tea, as if just holding it had poisoned him, then back at her. "It was a nickname. From a friend."

The conversation was suddenly picking up. Bessie drank some of her own unpoisoned tea to try to convince him it was safe. He just bit his thumb awkwardly, the looked back at the tea. "A Japanese friend?"

"Yes. Named Miki." He was concerned with how much information he was giving away. The fumes made him nauseous.

"You know, I heard that Miki means 'three trees together'. I heard of a story about three trees once. They grew into one tree from the body of Adam, in the bible. He had his third son Seth plant three seeds from the Tree of Life in his mouth when he died."

"Whuh-what?" The postman tilted his head. She read entirely too much. He had never heard this before.

"You never heard that?" Scrying was fun. Taking the topic of conversation directly from her own tea leaves.

"Nuh-no. I only huh-heard of the fuh-first two brothers."

Ah. This was at the core. "The first two? Cain and Abel...?"

He shivered at the first name out of pure reflex, and she caught him. "...Your brother and you. Is that how it is?"

His mind scrambled for purchase. What was that girl's story again? The boy had these two brothers who had died previously from experiments and- oh God no. "God, no! Thuh-that's a tuh-terrible thing, muh-murder! Muh-my brother...uh...I-I don't think- wuh-we- uh- you-..." He blustered. Did he have to say it?

"What's wrong?" She swirled her tea leaves. What was that- a phallic shape? She was losing her touch.

"I- I'm leaving. You judgemental buh-bitch." He shouldered his bag, his face pink. That was good enough. Stumbling towards the door, he paused and spun around. Taking the spiked tea, he splashed it on her outfit angrily. By the time he realized the door was locked, the cup had shattered and Bessie was furious.

-Meanwhile-

Sportacus was utterly bewildered. He'd been to Robbie's house TWICE after making about seven rounds to all the people in LazyTown, and still he could not find the person in trouble. Mayor Meanswell said that Ms Busybody was not to be disturbed, but he had to see what was going on.

The door was locked. "What...?" He looked in the window, seeing that there was a broken cup on the floor, and that there was tea on Ms Busybody's outfit. He knocked, and she opened the door in a dramatic display.

"Oh Sportacus, thank GOODNESS you arrived! This Postman took advantage of MY good nature to let him in, and when I offered him tea, he threw it back in my FACE! The NERVE of that Postman!" She shouted dramatically, swiveling around in grand arcs of emotion. Sportacus was- for one- a bit scared by her theatrics (think along the lines of Sumomo's 'BIG MAN IS SCARY!'). Fortunately, it appeared that Pósturinn was well acquainted with such fakery, and was already expressing the truth in the only way that people like these could understand immediately.

Pósturinn was sitting on the floor, his knees to his chest. He was barely breathing, and only then it was a great heaving intake of breath, a gasp. Tears rolled freely down his face, and his eyes stared blankly. Sportacus kneeled in front of the man, some vague sense of recognition flickering in the back of his head. He tried to look directly into the man's eyes. "I'm terribly sorry. I don't think I'm -able- to help you."

The mail carrier tilted his head. "Oh -b-brother- if yuh-you only knew."

Secrets. They were speaking in secrets. "Things will be -fine- now. -I'll talk to the mayor-." The sports elf spoke. Pósturinn handed him a letter. "What's this?"

"Yuh-your mail suh-sir. I-uh, I should get- uh- guh-going."

"You probably should. Thank you, mister postman!" Sportacus smiled. What a nice mail carrier.

The mailman didn't say anything else, just left shakily. Ran home before anything else happened. And Sportacus went to talk to the Mayor.

-The Next Day-

Bessie awoke to a loud knock on her door, before she could even finish her nightmare. Good riddance. She needed a smoke. Tossing on her robe, she answered the door. This time, there was a man in a red and brown delivery suit, not a mailman, but delivering mail. He was slightly taller and much leaner than the last man, and had a dark look in his eye.

"I've been told that you've been blacklisted from the postal service. From now on, all mail is re-routed through the delivery service. Honestly, if you expect me to say 'Special Delivery' every time I come over, all your mail will mysteriously become lost in the postal system." He mumbled angrily, looking at his watch and angrily drumming against a clipboard that was folded under his other arm with his fingers. "Are we perfectly clear?"

"Oh, of course!" Bessie beamed. Fresh meat.

He pushed the clipboard in her direction. "Sign here, please."

She signed greedily, grinning. The man ripped the clipboard from her hands once she signed, having seen her signature and hoping his eyes deceived him.

"YOU'RE Bessie Busybody? I was informed of the change, but I was not told that the person who was getting blacklisted was the very person who nearly raped my brother, as I was so informed when he came home, crying his eyes out!" He dropped/threw her package on the floor, then picked it up and shook it close to his ear. "Oops, hope it wasn't anything BREAKABLE." he sneered at her, shoving it into her hands. The man walked towards the door, freezing at the doorframe. He grabbed it, leaning back over his shoulder to glare at her.

"I'm Kano, if my brother Aoijiro didn't tell you. And if you ever even so much as THINK of taking my brother away from me with the intent to woo him by force and way of potions, I WILL skin you alive, and my brother and I will make love over a new COW SKIN RUG. Are we understood, pelvis-equipped moving van?"

Bessie's eyes nearly popped out of her skull. "You- I- buh-wha-what the..."

He grinned for the first time in a long time. This was the most damned fun he had in years. He never thought the creepy story would have any use, but he was kind of enjoying this. "What, you thought he was available? Why?"

"Well- I- I just, he- he was cute."

"That's not an excuse, cow. That's MY property you were eyeing up."

Bessie sputtered. "Then, how did you-"

"Word spreads fast on the internet. And Stegman was VERY infamous."

"Then-"

He glanced at his watch. "Well, I've got other routes. Goodbye."

She opened up the package. It was a replacement teacup from Aoijiro. It was very broken. Bessie Busybody looked at it. Then she decided to get some glue.

---

The next delivery, Kano realized, was to himself. He opened it. A picture- an artist's rendering of...

"OH MY GOD. I'VE GONE BLIND."

---

When he arrived home, Aoijiro had to pry the picture from his white-knuckled hand. When he finally got it free, he didn't want to look at it.

"A-are yuh-you-" he tried.

"D-DON'T LOOK AT IT. IT'S WORSE TH-THAN GODDAMNED MEDUSA!!!"

Aoijiro was shocked. KANO, of all people, had to stutter. "Who's it from?"

No answer. He unfolded the picture.

He immediately turned three shades of pink. And then several colors of pink that didn't exist yet. Then, he passed out because he forgot to breathe.

-Destiny's Garden-

"TREEEEEEEEE!!!" Skripture screamed at a decibel that shouldn't be possible, "You forced this kind of visual horror on OTHERS?!"

_EEEEHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAAAAAAHEEEEE!!!!! "They used the story, they have to see what the story was about..." _

Destiny massaged his temples. The girl had gone a LITTLE too far. I mean, the picture of Skripture WAS tasteful, but what she had done to the brothers was truly HORRORSHOW. And not the good kind. The kind where the 'time warp' was a dance. The only dance that Tree knew other than several versions of Caramelldansen. He tried to shove her back to where she came from. She went willingly, her feet sinking into the earth.

"Escalator~!" She spoke cheerfully as she sank straight down, leaving nothing but a upward-popping dimensional hiccough in her wake, stirring up old dust.

Good riddance.

* * *

\\_...We can't slow down, we can't hold back- though you know we wish we could..._

_You know, there ain't no rest for the wicked...until we close our eyes for good._\\

* * *

Music by Cage The Elephant- Ain't No Rest For The Wicked.

_AUTHOR NOTES:_

UH. Well, uh I should explain THAT.

I'm not a fan of incest, but it's better than killing.

And most of my stories have been evolving into exposing human nature.

So-um-uh- SURPRISE!

I've had this story about a kingdom in my head where the queen becomes a slave to her people, instead of the other way around. Her only purpose is to breed and serve as a figurehead. The future queen falls in love with a slave to the castle, a young boy who has had plenty of problems. Both his older brothers died in 'experimentation', which happens to any servant/slave who gets old enough to know what's going on in the castle. AND his brothers were lovers. So he's all messed up.

And his brothers were named Kano and Aoijiro. So there.

And everyone should see just the one episode of Kingdom Hospital where Steg freaks out about the anesthesiology report. And then Brenda shoots ALL his mice. The dreaded piece of paper that ruined his life and forced him to go into hiding in the new Knight Rider show.

Don't ask: my logic is highly flawed.

And the chalk envoys? YOU CAN ALL BLAME CHALKZONE AND ITS CHARACTER SKRAWL.

And I am completely hopeless.

Reviews, please?


	9. The Ahab is a LIE!

Nyagu: It's my birthday, June 9! I should be Number Nine! But- I'm not. Anywho, I've decided. I'm bringing Robert Crowley actually INTO this story for reals.

FOR REALS.

He's so cute. I miss him, I keep feeling that he's died. But is still here...

Too bad he doesn't exist. Ah, well, you get to get a preview of what I plan to do with my life- I will bring my view of other dimensions and two characters to full circle, and they will be in my stories. YAY! Some day I hope people will make me fanfics of my characters that make me sickly! Just like I plan to creep out Magnus-sama and Neil-samasensei! Kekekekekeke!

* * *

_"The one I hate is where I'm just an actor on a strange television version of my life. Have you ever had that dream?"_

_"Doesn't everyone?"_

_"I don't."_

-Superman, Batman, and Martian Manhunter, in SANDMAN #71, part two of "The Wake"

* * *

\\_You're a regular decorated emergency,_

_The bruises and contusions will remind me what you did when you wake..._\\

* * *

Thessaly fell asleep from the drink, sure to be in need of some Eki-kyabe the next day. Her revealing outfit, born from the extravagant payment for odd wishes, flowed like silken light over her smooth skin, pale as moonbeams, satin shadows of glistening hair covering her back like a blanket. For now, she dreamed.

_A man looked back at her. The man was dressed in a hideous gray rabbit suit, and she adjusted the large round moonlike glasses that she now wore in this time and space. "You can't be Frank. Frank is missing an eye."_

_"You're right. I'm not Frank. I was. But I was freed by one who claims to be your sister." The man rose a hand to his right eye, brushing the wavy black hair out of his face to show that he now had one blue eye where before there was a bullet hole. "This was given to me by Donnie before he left. He said he didn't need it any more. Does that mean he forgave me?"_

_She tilted his head at him, looking from the brown eye to the blue eye, thinking. "You look like poor Watanuki's mirror image now, only you have long hair. Did this woman mention her name?"_

_He tilted his head. "Miki. She looked like you, only she was very white and green. She said I should call you Sakura. She said she wanted you home."_

_Larissa sighed deeply. Her voice shook as she told him the truth._

_"I can't. I'm only here because I need to be. Like you. Like- Like Dream."_

_He paused. "I can't tell her that. Her heart would break. You're the only one she has left. Both her sons are gone, one of them died at least thrice, one of them killed her father, her other sister is a heartless wench, her grandfather never talks to her, and the only family she really has left is a handless and toeless pointy-eared hermaphrodite who just had a child, and constantly depends on her for support, as she is the godmother..."_

_"So- she hasn't figured out which Sakura I am yet?" Yuuko spoke, fiddling with the glasses. It should have been obvious, but her sister was insane, and not too swift when it came to simple things._

_"She sent me for that reason. She wanted to make sure you were NOT that particular Sakura, because she saw you disappear on the internet, and she remembers your name being Sakura. Onemanga apparently has you on it." he scratched the back of his neck._

_"Shit- SHIT! She knows everything then! She's in what's called a 'white hole' dimension- All the other worlds allow travel between, but they are a one-way ticket. You get dragged to that dimension through a black hole, then you wind up there. The result is that anywhere you lived before is considered 'fiction', and you could read all about what was happening, but you couldn't do anything about it..."_

"Yuuko? Are you alright?" Watanuki shook the witch awake, "You were crying. What happened?"

She looked up at him, brushing a hair out of his mismatched eyes. "Child, did I ever tell you about my favorite sister?" Larissa got up, massaging her temples.

Watanuki's eyes nearly burst out of his skull. "YOU HAVE A SISTER, AND DIDN'T TELL ME?!"

Thessaly immediately decided that this would be the last time she surprised Watanuki with information on her family. EVER.

-Worlds Away-

It was his first time in a hospital. The flaxen-haired beauty was 22 years young, and already he looked like he had been through Hell. Though he looked to be a mirror of a familiar character from a children's show, his face had no evidence that he had ever smiled in his life. There were no wrinkles framing his piercing sky-blue eyes, his lips often set themselves in more of an innocent blue pout, and he was littered with scars, one running old and deep under his left eye. Through his angelic yet forsaken hair, pointed ears emerged, the right one with a large chunk missing. The hair ran to his chin, growing in a strange pattern of large curls, split ends, and golden waves. If any Stephen King fan had spotted him walking by in his outfit, he would have been mistaken for Randall Flagg, because he wore jeans constantly. His jacket was worn and very dirty, so messy that it no longer looked dark blue and brown, but just blackened all over. Like he had been in a fire. Brown worn steel-toed boots were on his feet, and he was wearing a horribly messed up blackish-blue turtleneck. Most of his outfit was things he had stolen from other people. His nails were colored black with a marker. But his most coveted possession was a large dark brown scarf, fluttering to his waist. It coiled like an evil being around his face, concealing everything below his eyes. It was made for him a long time ago by a fellow orphanage boy, one who he had traced to this hospital through records he had obtained by less than legal means.

He didn't have a real name. His mother didn't want him- she was horribly ashamed to have a half-human boy, and the whole Elf community thought she was a whore. She was told to kill him, and he was left in a clearing to starve. His father was just some deadbeat who had raped his mother, or so his mother told everyone. The boy was left in a clearing at four, and he managed to end up in an orphanage soon thereafter. He had been assigned to plenty of horrible foster parents, one who was running an underground child prostitution ring, another family were cannibals, yet another were trafficking drugs for money. His favorite was a tie between the family of Michael Myers-level serial killers, and the mentally unstable ninja family that had a huge collection of knives.

Perhaps because of them, it was only inevitable that he serve as the dark side of humanity. Someone had found him, unconscious after one of his recent attempted crimes, and assumed that he was just another one of the homeless people that roamed the city. They had delivered him to the one hospital that he was hoping to sneak around, and so he found himself in the elevator.

Which was now, unfortunately, careening to the bottom of the shaft.

"Sharpie?" a voice whispered, almost lost in the screetching of metal. Suddenly, the elevator skidded to a halt, and it almost sent his breakfast resurfacing for air. He found himself collapsed on the floor of the small cube, watching the small panel in the top of the elevator move.

From it emerged a teenager, one wearing faded tight purple jeans and high-topped gray sneakers with wings coming out of the ankles of the shoes. It was undeterminable whether the wings were decoration or real, as they fluttered rather realistically, but more like a bolt of silk in a huge gust of wind. The boy landed quickly, causing the floor to thump loudly, and dust billowed up from the cheap carpet like a huge storm cloud. His pale hand ran through his dark black-brunette birds nest of hair, long tails kinda like sideburns hanging down in a manner similar to Card Captor Sakura. "What are you DOING here?" Gray eyes upon blue, searching.

Sharpie, the blue-eyed beauty, reached a hand towards his former friend. It never met flesh or form, only air and resistance. He pulled it back with a jump, the teen in front of him covering up the spot on his face where his hand had breezed right through. "S-Sorry, I forgot. I'm not used to this, Robert. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I'm dead. How do you THINK I am?" Robert closed in on him, his eyes narrowing behind purple-lined, black-rimmed glasses. The ghost decided to sit on the scarf-clad man's stomach, looking down at him. One hand settled on the scarf, lifting up one of the ends. "You like this thing, don't you?"

"How did you die?"

Robert Crowley let the scarf flutter out of his hand. "Do you remember the psychiatrist who tried to 'fix' you? Your so-called 'Ahab'? He was my psychiatrist. And when he was, he constantly told me that my hallucinations were the product of memories from when I was young, and not the anti-seizure medications he gave me. He constantly harassed me about it, refusing to change my medication."

Sharpie was shocked. "And? What happened?"

"I stopped taking it. The hallucinations finally stopped then. I was so happy for three days...then, I had a fatal seizure. Swallowed my own tongue and choked on it." Robert was now lying on top of him, legs swinging in the air, arms folded on top of his chest. Sharpie looked up at him curiously, pulling the scarf from his face, stifled from the stillness of the air around him.

"You're awfully close." he breathed, heart hammering away.

The ghost traced his lips with a cool, soft, thin finger. "Your mouth is blue...I always wondered why." Pale gray lips brushed lightly against blue.

"I-I'm half elf. You know that. My blood is blue." he stuttered, blushing. "W-will you d-do that again?"

Robert smiled warmly, lowering himself closer once again.

It was then that the elevator started moving once again- careening towards the bottom of the shaft.

"OW."

They were both dead now.

Sharpie turned to Robert. "Now what?"

"I found the greatest kid's show ever. You wanna see it?"

Great. They were dead, and all he wanted to do was watch some kid's show. He followed Robert, who was now setting up what looked like a really old TV in a really old room. There was static, but then up popped a show that had bright colors he had only seen in his worst care bear-like nightmares.

"OH MY GOD." Sharpie stared at the screen.

THEY were in the show. They were older, but they were there.

"What is this, Bob? What am I looking at?"

Robert smiled. "An alternate world. They look happy."

"Bullshit. Neither of them are confronting reality." Sharpie glared.

He sighed. "Why must you be so negative? What's wrong with their world?"

"You don't see what's missing, do you?"

"No..." Robert was suddenly being cuddled, still-warm lips traveling along his collarbone. "...OH. Well, perhaps...mmm. Maybe you're right. But they live in a town with a lot of kids, you know?"

"Wouldn't stop you. Your dad was gay."

"My dad was bisexual. THAT kid's dad is gay." He pointed at the kid in yellow with the mini car. When he sang, he sounded like Rod from Avenue Q as a kid.

They both laughed, watching the show with some sick, twisted sense of interest.

-LazyTown-

The children were all sitting in Pixel's house, watching "Jason Lives", which they had rented from the video store. Ziggy was going to use the money to buy candy, but the Japanese section where they usually had pocky and other wonderful candies was nearly empty, not to be restocked until that night. He settled for the less expensive and ultimately more cavity-inducing Jawbreakers, and used the remaining money to rent a movie. Even though horror movies scared the living daylights out of him, this happened to be one of his favorite ones, because of the ending. Now, they were about ten minutes into the movie when Trixie piped up.

"So Ziggy, who's the Ahab in the Jason franchise? I'm more of a Freddy Krueger fan myself."

Sportacus had just popped in to check on them, wondering where everyone was, and heard this. "What's an Ahab? Why aren't you guys outside playing?"

Pixel piped up. "We're watching a horror movie. Ziggy rented it. He hates horror, but he likes when the bad guy is finally defeated for good."

"That...doesn't really answer my question."

Ziggy looked over. "Did you ever read Moby Dick?"

"Did I ever WHAT?" His head tilted to the side.

"The book about the people hunting the really big whale."

His head shot up again. "OH, MOBY DICK! Isn't that book a little old for you?"

Pixel jumped in again. "Are you kidding? It was required summer reading for class! That book is CLASSIC! 'From hell's heart I stab at thee, for hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee...' Captain Ahab's own classic words!"

"Oh-kay...will someone explain to me what that has to do with horror movies?" Sportacus questioned, looking at Ziggy.

Ziggy looked up from his movie once more. "It basically means the person whose main purpose is to be a rival to the killer. The person who most often either kills the killer, gets so obsessed with how evil they are that they go crazy themselves trying to stop the killer, or just basically serves as the antithesis of all that the bad guy is, the embodiment of good. In this movie, it's Tommy Jarvis."

"Ah. Does that make me an Ahab?" He wondered aloud, looking outside towards the silo where Robbie Rotten made his home.

"No! Robbie's just an over-glorified hermit! Yikes, where do you get this stuff? I wouldn't exactly consider him in the murderous freak category just because he's a lonely, angsty jerk who doesn't want to have anyone be too happy just because he's depressed." Stephanie burst out, enraged that Sportacus wold liken someone to an insane murderer just for being emo.

Sportacus left them to their devices, taking what Stephanie said to heart. He walked to the billboard mural of cows and rolling plains, stepped around it, and made his way down into Robbie's lair through the ominous entrance pipe thing, surprised when he did not find Robbie Rotten.

"Robbie? Are you here?" He called. The only answer was a loud scream, a thump, and a bunch of sounds that sounded like strangled flailing. Sportacus traced the sound to a bedroom, where he found Robbie Rotten being strangled by his own bedsheets, a number of mysterious bruises and a black eye forming. "ROBBIE! What- what the hell happened?"

"Sportacus, you'd do well to forget what you just saw. Go home."

Sportacus refused, shaking his head. He untangled the bedsheets, leaving Robbie to pull the sleeves on his robe over the bruises on his arms. "I don't want to deal with your shit, Rotten. The kids told me you were depressed."

"Well, fuck, I may be depressed, but I'm not crazy! You really think I would do this to myself?" Robbie slapped him hard, leaving the hat tumbling across the room. This gave him a glimpse of the elf ears underneath, small and pointed and dainty. Sportacus immediately clapped his hands over his ears, hoping that there wasn't enough time for Robbie to see them. "What? I don't see why you cover them up, anyway. I'm sure nobody gives a shit."

"I'm supposed to be a role model. It wouldn't do well for them to know I'm an elf, and that's why I can do half of the stuff I can do."

A frown. "So your job is to lie to little kids to help them live a delusion."

"I- It's just to get them to do their best..."

A grimace. "A convenient and pretty lie will only get them so far. When they finally find out, they'll be crushed. Like any child finding out there's no Easter Bunny."

"But-" He picked up his hat, shaking. Robbie took it and shoved it back on his head.

"You've already gone this far. Can't hurt to see it through to the end now. Besides, by the time this is all over, nobody will give a shit."

Sportacus only tilted his head to the side, looking up at Robbie like a hurt puppy. "I don't understand, Robbie. What is this about?"

"I want you to leave LazyTown. If you do, maybe you'll have a chance..."

"Robbie, I'm not going ANYWHERE. You just said...the children need..."

Robbie glared at him. "This goes farther than you could possibly understand, blue Elf. You take care of the little brats, but on my word, I WILL find a way to get you to leave. Nobody can stay here forever."

"Where DID you get those bruises, Robbie?"

Robbie only looked at him with weary pity. "I can't tell you."

"I refuse to leave until you do." Sportacus put his fists on his hips, making a face akin to what a child would look like if angered about not getting a favorite toy. Robbie sat down on the bed, sighing heavily. He picked up the blanket that once held him in a stranglehold in one hand.

"Would you believe the blanket got tangled several times while I slept, and I fell off the bed at least fifteen times when I was trying to sleep?"

Sportacus rolled his eyes. "I might. Depends. You're not in any trouble, are you?"

Robbie swallowed the rather large dry lump in his throat. Couldn't hurt to drop a hint. He let the blanket drop to the bed with a flutter. "Yes. Not any kind you could help with, though. It's you're being here." He sighed, collapsing onto the bed. It was bad enough all of this happen, but telling the person in question...he could get KILLED now. It was a heavy burden before, and now it was crippling.

"Why would my being here cause THIS- Robbie?"

Slowly, the lithe man stood up. He looked down wearily at the elf before him, not realizing that there were tears spilling over that the elf could clearly see. It didn't matter anyway- once he told him, nothing would matter anymore.

"I'm supposed to kill you."

* * *

\\_You've earned a place atop the ICU's hall of fame, _

_The camera caught you causing a commotion on the gurney again..._\\

* * *

Song by Panic! At The Disco- Camisado

AUTHOR NOTES:

Well, today's is meant to be kinda a cliffhanger.

A To Be Continued.

But things should pick up when I figure out what the next chapter should be about. If anyone's got any hints for the next chapter or wants it to be a particular episode or for me to kinda just skip most of the boring episodes and only include the good ones, tell me in comments/reviews. Then that'll give me an idea of where to go.

Who loves Bob?

Who loves Sharpie?

Sharpie was a beautiful little sin created from my mind when I wondered what would happen if Sportacus dressed up as Randall Flagg for Halloween.

Then I remembered an old character that I never refined, who wore a ripped scarf over his face, and had blonde hair and a few scars. I modified him so his and Bob's history fit together, and this was the result.

What's really weird is that Sharpie doesn't have diabetes, he has HIV instead. With the childhood he had, it was kinda inevitable. Of course, I blame RENT for everything. EVERYTHING.

Oh, and Sportacus's little confusion over the Moby Dick book stems completely from NUMNAH.

If you saw that video, you'd be laughing right now. Google it or something.

"OH, NUMNAH!"

Reviews please!


	10. L ate my Birthday Cake

Schrödinger: I'm not entirely sure how this chapter will turn out.

Remember the chapter that talked about the September 10 server? Yeahhh... Magnus' birthday is in NOVEMBER. To be honest, I was thinking of Joe Perry from Aerosmith at the time, but that's got nothing to do with what that was actually supposed to mean. I wanted to put 'Arnold Palmer', seeing as I love the combination of lemonade and iced tea, but I thought that'd be a little too obvious. Still, I was REALLY thinking about this Gaia website. If you've been there, you'd totally get it. In fact, that's kinda why Bob even exists. Sushi Server error, Cheese Server error...oh LORD, the laughs I had. Just search 'sushi server gaia', and I think you'll get the idea.

Anyway, here goes nothing...

* * *

_"When I first met you I thought you were gay."_

_"Why? 'Cos I'm English?"_

_"Uh-uh. Because you seemed to know so many people who were dead."_

_"... That's not funny."_

_"No. It's not, is it?"_

**Guenevere and Hob, in SANDMAN #73, epilogue to "The Wake"**

* * *

\\_But there's no sense crying over every mistake, _

_You just keep on trying 'till you run out of cake..._\\

* * *

"I'm supposed to kill you."

Those words shook Sportacus to his very core. He took a step back, mouth opening and closing like a dying fish. When he finally managed to regain his composure, he could only repeat the statement in a question- "You're supposed to kill me?"

"Technically, I was just told to take the crystal. But that would kill you. Seeing as I have strong morals, I refuse to. But- if I don't, then I get killed. And you still get killed, probably." Robbie counted the possibilities on his fingers, "So...I would suggest you leave, unless you have a death wish. And want me dead as well."

Sportacus clenched his hands into fists at his sides, staring at Robbie's shoes as if he intended to melt them with his very eyes. "You're lying. Nobody would want this thing. It's just a piece of Icelandic Spar. A sunstone. It's practically worthless, except for monetary value."

"You're an idiot." Robbie lamented, looking to the ceiling for comfort, "Do you really think you'd be alive without that stone? Do you even remember your dreams? How do you know you're not just half a person without it?"

A look of surprise. "You mean I'm supposed to be able to remember them?" the Sports Elf looked up at him with a small bit of fear growing in the pit of his stomach. This was all too confusing.

The lithe man kneaded a particularly tense part of his head. He had forgotten himself in the drama, and if the elf had too much info, he'd be in worse trouble than he was now. "Look, never mind. I told you, Sportakook, to forget all this stuff! And you still pester me! Go on, get out! This isn't a dorm room- scat!" He demanded, trying to shove him back up the pipe by shoving on the man's over-muscular ass. It was quite a hilarious sight to behold.

Sportacus found himself wandering back to the airship alone and confused and scared and lonely, feelings he had never had to confront before. All the ingredients for a good old-fashioned case of paranoia.

The airship was eerily cool and dry, like a night in the desert without water, stale air unmoving in the confined craft. It didn't bode well on his frayed nerves, and he begged that perhaps something simple, like exercise, would take his mind off things.

"Computer, start training program!" He spoke, a little too sternly. No reply.

"Computer..." He tried again, only to be cut off by the computer, which was acting oddly. It spoke differently, and its speech was less like Majel Roddenberry Barrett, and more like...he didn't know.

"The Enrichment Center is committed to the well-being of all participants. Cake and Grief Counseling will be available at the conclusion of the test. Thank you for helping us help you help us all."

Sportacus backed into a corner, scared out of his wits. His first thought was to check the airship's brain. He was almost compelled to throw up when he found a rather large knife lodged in it, one with a decoration of an odd cube with a heart in the middle on the handle. "Oh God. Who- What...I'm gonna die, aren't I?"

"Well, that wouldn't be fair, now would it?" A foreign voice spoke, one youthful, foreign, and sounding like knives cutting through air. Despite the cheeriness of the voice and its strange familiarity, it sent shivers up his spine. He turned to meet slightly darker melancholy pools of blue, ones that matched the colors of a stormy, cloudy sky right before the rain fell in great droplets and lightning bolts hurdled towards the ground.

"Hiiii~..." the owner of the eyes and the voice waved, vaguely reminiscent of a younger version of him, only gone horribly wrong. "I gave your computer a bit of a...'facelift'. You see, she was very angry with me."

Sportacus only stared at the young man, wondering if he was going insane. "Are you real? I'm not seeing things, am I?"

The man tilted his head, the scarf he was wearing shifting in a nonexistent breeze. "Well, that all depends if ghosts exist. If ghosts don't exist, then you've gone insane, and should probably get help immediately. If they do, then you'd need to be able to see them..."

"STOP BABBLING AND JUST ANSWER!"

His head shifted to the side. "Forceful...I like it. I'm dead. So...I wasn't just created by your mind out of pure delusion, no. But it was so BORING in that stuffy room of a crossroads that I decided I'd visit. Not that I REALLY know you or anything, was just floating by, and found myself here. Speaking of that, I don't really know your name."

Sportacus circled the being, only now noticing that it was hovering. And that most everything from the waist down was vaguely transparent. The scarf was the most solid thing about him. "I'm Sportacus. And in my opinion, you don't look like a very good copy of me." He gave a small, uneasy smile at the ghost, hands clasped nervously behind his back.

"That's not a name, you ass! Even I've got the sense to know that we're not clones! My, you are really stupider than you look on TV."

The Sports Elf only narrowed his eyes in warning. "'ON TV?' What does that mean!? If you're so special, then what's your name?"

"Don't have one. I was the reject baby. Dad left when mom was pregnant. Mom left me in the woods. So when they found me, I had no name at all. They tried to give me all sorts of stupid names, but I was never properly given a name I deserved. Some genius tried to name me Lysander. He didn't last too long..."

A threatening, impatient stare told him to make it short.

"FINE, have it your way then! I go by the nickname Sharpie. You HAPPY now?" The boy sat on the floor, sulking. He pulled the scarf up over his nose and mouth.

"None of that was true, was it..." Sportacus stated, looking down at the boy with mixed feelings.

Sharpie looked up at him once more, quite the picture of rage, automatically drawing one of his many knives and gripping the hilt tightly for comfort. "WHY THE FUCK WOULD I LIE, YOU MORON?!"

Well, NOW Sportacus felt like crap. "How could someone's life be so terrible?" He implored, his demeanor changing.

"Perhaps it started when I was born. Some people are just born at the wrong place at the wrong time, you know?"

Sportacus froze. "Wait, when is your birthday? Mine's November 10."

"See, we're not the same at all. I was born the day of the Gunpowder Treason." He waved a hand around proudly, humming a tune in his head.

"What is a Gunpowder Treason?"

Sharpie sighed, his hand freezing mid-motion. "You don't remember the poem? 'Remember, remember, the Fifth of November, The Gunpowder Treason and Plot. I see for no reason why the Gunpowder Treason should ever be forgot.' You don't remember that?"

"Oh." He lied, nodding. He had no clue what the kid was talking about, but at least he actually knew what day it was now. "So...you like knives?"

"The only decent family I ever had taught me all I know about knives. They actually did call me Sharpie. I think they liked it because it sounded like the word sharp. I just picked the name from the marker brand. I love those things. Usually I paint my nails with them, see?" he showed Sportacus his decorated nails.

"Can you be invisible?" The sports elf asked, quite off-topic.

"I-I think so, why?" Sharpie looked at him oddly.

"Good. If I tell you where you can go watch a horror movie, will you go away and leave me alone?"

Sharpie burst out laughing. "You sounded just like Robbie. I already know the kids are watching a horror movie. I just came to make sure that you stopped harassing the poor guy because he's lazy."

"Harassing?" Sportacus jumped up, "He's been harassing me! He said that he was sent to this town to kill me, and that's why I should leave!"

The boy's eyes went wide. "BOB- where are you, Bob? I think we landed in the wrong dimension!"

A young teen in tight purple jeans, winged grey hightops, and a T-shirt that said EMO on it soon appeared, carrying a book. "Did you know that guy's a librarian? Apparently he doesn't even belong in this franchise! I probably should have been him, but he wound up here instead. Look at this book, Sharpie. He said some girl he knows wrote a bunch of stories about us...CHILDRENS BOOKS, no doubt, then turned it into an adult series- HOLY CRAP."

Sharpie looked from Bob's shocked face to the elf he had been talking to for a good twenty minutes. "Oh. Don't mind him, he's weird. He thinks his name is Sportacus."

"My God, he's even got a stripper name! Where did they dig up this- this Chippendales dancer- for a kid's show? At least he's not as bad as the drag queen freak with the high-waisted male cameltoe I was talking to earlier, but COME ON! HOW OLD is this guy, and he's running around in a damned overglorified UNITARD and VEST! And I actually thought I was gay. I THOUGHT I WAS AS GAY AS ANYONE COULD POSSIBLY GET. But seeing these people up close puts the icing on the ca-"

Eventually, Bob got on Sportacus's last nerve, and ended up getting punched halfway across the room. Not a good idea when someone else in the room has a bunch of knives, and bloody KNOWS how to use them. Sportacus wound up with a dagger dangerously close to slitting his throat, threatening to confine him to a similar fate. Sharpie only sighed through his nose, holstering the knife and attending to poor Bob, who now had a bloody nose.

"What's with you two, anyway?"

They both looked at the sports elf like deer caught in headlights. Then they looked at each other, waiting for some hint from the other as to what they were. The longer both waited, the sadder they became.

"ANY TIME NOW..."

"GAY." Bob finally blurted out, turning to the elf, shocked out of his reverie. Sharpie perked up, kinda panicking. "D-DON'T BE SO STRAIGHTFORWARD!"

"I'll get you cake if you both leave IMMEDIATELY!" Sportacus burst out, pointing at Bob, flustered. What was the world coming to?

Sharpie perked up immediately, looking in the elf's direction. "CAAAAKE~! YAY~!" He rejoiced with strangling Bob with much needed hugs, the boy with the dark hair and blood caked on his lip strangely less enthusiastic. "You're trying to bribe and/or medicate us with food. Great. Still, free food...score!"

Sportacus raised an eyebrow. "You don't have diabetes, either, Sharpie?"

Sharpie chuckled. "Goodness, no! I love sweets! No, I just have HIV. Now, where's my cake?"

Sportacus handed him enough money to buy a refrigerated cake at the grocery store. "HERE. Send Bob. He looks less suspicious."

As the ghosts ran off with the money that quite possibly came from nowhere, as Sportacus lived in an airship and didn't have a normal human job...

Sportacus collapsed to the floor, putting a hand to his head. He had a really bad headache. One that would possibly never go away. He had much to do, which included fixing the ship, correcting the course it had swerved into, making sure everything was programmed correctly and that nothing was permanently damaged- including his sanity- and check on the kids. Too much for one day.

-Groceries!-

Pala found herself shopping, as she had been doing most of the cooking since moving in with Corinne. Corinne was, of course, in the makeup aisle looking for the next great shade of lip gloss. Pala couldn't decide if she was going to get a strawberry shortcake for herself or not, as she never could finish a full cake. She soon noticed a pale pair of hands reaching for a very, VERY chocolate angel-food cake, white only on the fluffy cake inside, which was separated by layer upon decadent layer of chocolate icings, and finally topped with chocolate-covered strawberries, with a really big plop of chocolate icing holding the center one in place. She followed the hands, to see a boy almost her age, with dark brown hair and gray eyes. She recognized him immediately.

"Bob, what's a small-timer like you doing here? And with such a pretty cake that should belong to the likes of me?"

Bob shuddered. "Uh, hey Paul. Your- uh- You- um- blast it all. Boobs."

"Thank you for noticing, but I'm not Paul, silly. I just like him so much that I stole his name and his slang!" She poked him on the nose.

"Oh. So you finally blossomed, then, Mary? Not like I care, for obvious reasons- or is this the part where I'm supposed to shout out FABULOUS in a loud and obnoxious manner, and then drag you kicking and screaming to the hair salon?" He questioned, walking with her to the checkout. She giggled.

"Those things don't make you gay, Robert Crowley. I still wonder to this day why the crossroads dumped you in our hospital when you never were there when you were alive." She spoke a bit cryptically, hoping he would get it.

"Yeah, I still didn't get the dimension-hopping thing. I guess because you were here...?" he smiled, paying the man for his cake.

Pala nodded. "That's probably it. See you later." she waved as Bob left, carrying the cake to the figure in the shadows.

Was it just his imagination, or was it getting dark?

Was that- the moon?

Where did the sun go?

Shit, Sharpie was being cornered by a police officer.

-Wait, now Sharpie was hugging the police officer.

HOLY BALLS- The police officer was L from Death Note.

"Bob, get over here! It's totally the great L-sama! Look!"

The policeman looked pissed. "MY NAME IS LOLLI LOGGA, NOT- Is that cake?"

Bob grinned wickedly. "Oh, but your name is Lolli. We were looking for someone who's usually called L, or perhaps Ryuzaki..."

"Fine. My name is L for the purposes of getting some of that cake. If I don't, I can see that your friend goes to prison. I do not appreciate people hugging me."

"Oh, good enough." Sharpie sighed, cutting the cake into thirds. "You only get one third of the cake, though. The rest is ours."

"Perhaps we shouldn't be outside with the cake. It is rather messy eating a cake outside." he suggested, leading them to his house, a nearby apartment that was rather small. Immediately, the policeman took off his cap, to reveal that it either was L, or someone who looked exactly like him. Same slouch, but at least he wore shoes and had the dignity to dress properly. Most of the furniture consisted of old antiques and paintings of monsters named Baku, some sort of cross between an elephant and tiger that ate dreams. Lolli immediately busied himself with finding plates and making tea. When he finally finished, the cake was cut, and he finally sat down on the chair opposite the two boys, looking at them very intently.

When he finally spoke, they were both shocked.

"I want to know why you two came here. You're damaging the containment field. How many else made it through the barrier, into this private dreaming skerry between dreaming and waking?"

Oh shoot. It wasn't L, it was Morpheus. Or maybe it was L. Or maybe it was both. But still, Morpheus. Still Alive.

And probably going to destroy them both.

* * *

\\_...And the Science gets done, and you make a neat gun, _

_For the people who are still alive..._\\

* * *

Song: 'Still Alive' by Jonathan Coulton.

AUTHOR NOTES:

CAAAAAAAAKE.

I know what you're thinking. I just wanted to write an entire chapter about cake. You'd be right about that. Portal cake. It actually kinda looks like the cake I described, too. Only, with little white icing things or something. The cake is not a lie.

Cake.

Anyway, Sharpie loves cake. Dunno why.

No, Bob did not give him HIV. Either he got someone else's blood in one of his cuts or- well, his childhood was crappy, ok? Bound to happen eventually in that kinda life. Okay, so I just pulled his character from The Night Listener. Sue me.

Ok, please don't sue me.

Morpheus. L.

LOOK IT UP. IT EXISTS AND THERE IS PROOF.

Boobs.

I MEAN CAKE.

Oh, and BONUS: Chapter's not done. Read below for the rest. Just a small bit, but kinda an Easter egg for those who read my author notes.

* * *

While the two other-worlders panicked, Lolli helped himself to their cake as well. Cake was good. Especially this cake. The two ghost boys had good taste in cake. He pushed the fork down into the cake with three fingers, tipping the fork slightly at an angle to pick the cake piece up to his mouth. It melted in his mouth in the same way that Orpheus's songs melted your heart. It made him wonder how his son was doing. He wasn't allowed to see- that was against the rules. When your time was up as an Endless, you were stuffed into the most obscure of places, never to be heard from again. As if you didn't exist. You weren't supposed to.

The same thing had happened to the other pieces of him. Spread across places of obscurity that would not interfere with his new life or his old, pieces he had purposefully spread out in obscure places in the hopes that if this did happen, he would have the chance of changing his mind.

Strangely, that all changed when he realized that the Sunstone had fallen into the hands of John Lennon. He actually hoped, at one point, that Lennon would take over. That was a stupid idea. The man died before he did- the poor sap was only human. Unfortunately, this left him with another Daniel-type on his hands. He had no idea how it happened- well, he had an idea, but he wasn't sure it was possible until it happened.

There was a woman who lived in the Dreaming. To tell the truth, she was one of the women that Dream felt he owed a boon to- it was his fault that she was homeless and poor, and he offered her a place in a dreaming so she would have a place. The story was supposed to end there.

Until Lennon decided to sleep with her during his visit to the dreaming.

She became pregnant, all because John was the one who held the Icelandic spar dreamstone in his possession. The child couldn't be raised entirely in the dreaming- it would die. Same thing if it was raised in the waking world. It was finally decided that he would create a secret skerry between the dreaming and waking worlds, deep in the heart of Iceland where myths and faery tales lived. Things were complicated- things had to be shipped there, it became a sort of myth in itself, and nobody went there unless they had to. The child was not brought up to know his father, or his real name, or even that he could die if he left the skerry. It was Lennon's idea that he live in an airship, one that matched the ridiculousness of the yellow submarine that he used in the dreaming, but the poor boy was never told about any of this. He just went to the small school there, only in attendance with perhaps three or four other children, played sports, and lived a rather sheltered life. His real first name was used so little that he had forgotten it in lieu of his nickname...

"HEY! I want my cake, you arsehole! You ARE L, you probably just made up all that nonsense from reading myths and stuff! I wouldn't put it past you, with your intelligence!" Sharpie demanded, slamming his fists on the table, a shade bluer with rage, knives clasped tightly in each hand. Lolli merely smiled warmly, tilting his head to the side.

"I'm sorry, you caught me. But I do get 2/3rds now, because you're both stupid." He had finished one-third of the cake already, and was moving on to the second third. "If it were true, though, what would you say? It is an interesting concept, when you think about it, living between sleep and the living."

Bob stood up at that point in protest. "Well, there's the problem right there! You leave a big opening for all the freshly dead and wandering souls to put up their feet! Because here, not only are they technically not dead, they're technically not alive either. That's the definition of ghost right there, and it leaves a big gap for any person who's supposed to be dead to move right in, settle down, and have a family even!" By now Robert was screaming, hopefully the walls were thick enough. "That's probably why you got Paul Morlock and Mary Jensen sharing occupancy in this shitty town under the misnomer 'Pala', and probably some other name I haven't discovered yet! Not only are they OLD and DEAD, they should not be around the other children because they are detrimental to their health psychologically!"

Lolli only stared blankly at Bob. "Well, there is certainly no need to shout over a hypothetical question. I'm beginning to think that you are immature. However, you two probably shouldn't leave the apartment now, so I'll try to fix up some beds, or something."

"We can't leave?" Sharpie probed, wondering, "Why?"

Lolli only pointed to the window that now had multiple faces squashed up against it. An elf that they had seen before, a tall man in a catsuit, a girl with brown hair and dark pink clothes, and several other people who couldn't mind their own danged business. Which of course meant that Bessie- I MEAN STINA was right up front, her large face squashed up so close that she looked like Miss Piggy.

Robert stared at the window wide-eyed, then whirled around. "Okay, where's your futons? Is there some sort of blow-up bed or something? Hell, I'll sleep on a bean bag chair if that's all you got. Anything but going out there to confront the teeming pappers out there."

"PAPPERS?" Sharpie stared at him like he was out of his mind. "That word is older than Paul!"

"Hey, I was up late watching TMZ, and the paparazzi had gotten a hold of Regis. The old fart used that old-arsed word to refer to them, and it kinda caught on." He explained, looking around.

Lolli had come back with a large sleeping bag and a blanket. "You'll have to make due." He spoke, then plopped his policeman cap back on, picking up his baton and walking to the window. Some skittered back right away, to those who didn't get the %#$! clue, he waved his baton at them through the window threateningly. The rest fled like ants from a flaming anthill.

Let them eat cake...

* * *

And NOW you can stop reading. I kinda submitted this late because I'm kinda formulating a Powerpuff Z fanfic in my head.

Sorry.

CAKE TO MY REVIEWERS!


	11. A Canon Cat Cameo

Schrödinger: I was in College but its finally over now. Have a chapter.

_"When I first met you I thought you were gay."_

_"Why? 'Cos I'm English?"_

_"Uh-uh. Because you seemed to know so many people who were dead."_

_"... That's not funny."_

_"No. It's not, is it?"_

**Guenevere and Hob, in SANDMAN #73, epilogue to "The Wake"**

* * *

\\_Everybody needs to cry or needs to spit_

_Every sweet tooth needs just a little hit..._\\

* * *

"Is that Sportacus?" Trixie, or rather Halla, asked, pressing her face to the glass of an apartment, having seen a character walk in.

"No, you mean Sports Elf, right?" Goggi Mega persisted.

"No, I mean Sportacus. Like in my dreams. That blue guy. I would have imagined it was the Sports Elf in his sleep, but I don't get it. Here is another person that looks like him..."

Maggi snuck up, licking some sort of chocolate stick. "Nah, he looks more like Heath Ledger. A very short Heath, but one all the same. It's the hair- it's longer and more raggedy. The Elf has very elf-like hair...they like constantly do their hair with magic or something. This guy don't look like he cares enough to do so, either that or he's never used magic in his life. Besides, he's got a scarf. And that other kid- I read a book about the other kid. That's Hungry Bob. It's a very popular kid's book, very cute...sad thing is it might have been based offa Glanni."

Stephanie- SOLLA watched all this with curiosity. Glancing in the window, she let out a sharp gasp. MORPHEUS? Morpheus was alive and hadn't told her? It figured, useless man, she had wasted so much time on him. She couldn't even remember why she had liked in the first place. Finding herself wandering the town of Latibaer, hoping for an idea to cross her mind...she found herself colliding with Íþróttaálfurinn's chest.

"...Hello. Sorry. I'm not in a good mood today." Solla answered automatically, immediately regretting it, knowing he would ask all sorts of prodding questions.

"None of us are." He answered unexpectedly, shuffling in the direction of Glanni's hideout. "I need to find out about the two that arrived here, the ghosts. They broke the barrier. I was going to ask Glanni about it. Or is that not what's bugging you?"

Solla looked at him with a look that begged help. "I- you meant the two with Morpheus, right? Why- He never even told me he was here- what did I ever see in him?"

The elf looked back at her, contemplative. "Morpheus? I don't remember a Morpheus. I don't know where they are now. I apparently sent the two off for cake. I don't remember much else, other than one looked like what would happen if Heath Ledger tried to dress up for Halloween as Sportacus with only leftover costumes from The Dark Night."

Solla giggled. "Morpheus was the old Dream Lord. He died, though. Tall, about 6' 3", maybe 6' 4", usually pale and thin, with black messy hair and dark eyes. I- I liked him- once..."

The Sports Elf froze in his tracks. "Lolli Logga? B- but he's just a lowly police officer...he raised me as if I were a son..."

It was Solla's turn to freeze in her tracks. "A...son. You're not...how...I need to talk about this with Lu- er... Glanni." Íþróttaálfurinn gave her a pointed look. "What, Elf?"

"I KNOW his name. I just refuse to say it around the others for his own safety. Who knows why he's here, I just was told by Loggi that I wasn't to tell the others. It's one of the conditions for the wards around the town, he said. I don't know what's outside the town that's so dangerous, but I'm not about to question it."

Blank stare. "Íþróttaálfurinn, you're superstitious! Possibly as superstitious as the Japanese!" This earned her an "I HEARD THAT" from Halla, who was yards away.

-Glanni's Lair-

Glanni was reading over one of his many romance novels, recalling how many times he had watched Nuala stumble over her own wishes to be together with Morpheus. He always knew it would never work, and he always wanted to find her someone else. At times, he thought of being there himself, but he felt so intrusive, as if he was a stalker. So he often dismissed the notion of romantic interest in her as something his silly mind had concocted as a cosmic joke. It wasn't that he was in love with her, though she was adorable and he wanted her safe, but it was that she reminded him of someone else- a faded memory he could never quite catch. It wasn't as if there would never be anyone else for her. It wasn't that there wasn't anyone else for him.

He was alone. She was alone. If it weren't for Íþróttaálfurinn, they would probably be snogging right this minute, just to keep each other company.

Speaking of Íþróttaálfurinn, two figures tumbled in in a mass of mauve and mustard coloring. He jumped. "Hello, Solla. Íþróttaálfurinn..." Glanni only glared.

"You remember what happened this morning?" Íþróttaálfurinn asked, tilting his head slightly. "From what I remember there were two quite literally insane flawed perspectives of us tearing apart the airship."

Glanni only licked his index finger slowly. "Pity." He hissed along with the sound of parchment grinding against parchment as he turned the page slowly. "I was hoping it would have fallen down by now. The little bastard said that my outfit would make Tim Gunn kill himself. So what brings you here, are you going to agree? Poke fun? Make me dance around like a moron?"

Íþróttaálfurinn sighed, looking at his shoes. "Those two will be in my nightmares until I die. Tell me what you know. I want to know why they're calling Lolli Logga by the name Morpheus."

Glanni's recliner clattered to the floor with an awfully loud thump as he stood up in stark surprise. "Morpheus is alive? THAT RAT BASTARD! I offered him seemingly ENDLESS years of my servitude, and he repays me by not telling me when he is still alive or not? He had me thinking he was DEAD!" His eyes fell upon Íþróttaálfurinn, and his eyes narrowed dangerously. "Where is he- WHERE IS HE?"

-Where he is?-

Lolli tilted his head as he looked out the window. "Well they certainly aren't leaving any time soon. Perhaps...perhaps I know a way. Would you like to help me contact someone?" He found himself pulling out a laptop and setting it on the counter before settling into his usual crouch, opening the top carefully and pressing the power button until it sprung back into life.

"Depends-" the rather flat stereotypical Emo that mirrored a younger version of the Librarian piped up, looking over his shoulder. "-Are we contacting someone I know?"

Sharpie, the very definition of Heath Ledger's portrayal of the Joker in soul, of course, had to add in his two cents. Being the opinionated creature he is. "...With any luck, it's the viper bitch who decided we better fit children's stories..."

Logga snapped his head back curtly. "If you don't mind me cutting in and applying some deductive reasoning, I see her point- you're both childish imitations, lacking maturity, and you seem to be designed that the only way to tolerate your volatile past would be to simply not include it and describe you in children's book form. Children need no explanation as to why a person acts a certain way, and thus they don't get anything from backstory. This is why most cartoons are characters like anthropomorphic animals- it's impossible already, so they don't have to make a million facts for people to remember when using the character in the future. As long as they remember the heart and soul of the character, they have a story line to follow and things happen on their own."

Letting out a long sigh, the policeman in his black british hat looked back to the the laptop. "Now, will someone mind telling me how I'm supposed to contact her now? The last time I knew her, she was a cat and relied on the prayers of others directly to keep her going. I know that must not have turned out very well considering what Egypt did to her, especially its own gods who considered her not one of them to begin with, and the humans only saw what they wanted to see- It's something I'd rather not discuss. Too many secrets that would probably do better to be kept."

"I uh- I'm lost. I don't know how to contact her." Robert spoke dimly.

"I do. She let me use her account on some website to visit a Gotham thread. It was so cool- I met someone neat there." Sharpie grinned sheepishly, Robert stomped on his foot. "...Hey, you were dead, don't start this now. Razor's a very interesting person, if you ask me."

Lolli looked at him. "Show me."

* * *

MI- So they're still there? And you're really expecting me to just "Hand of God" them out of there because you're too lazy to do it yourself?

LL- DON'T EVEN-

MI- ...Ah, that's right, you don't have powers left. Shame. You could ask Iceland-kun to do it.

LL- ...WAT.

LL- ...the?

MI- You don't like that one?

LL- ...FUUUUUUUUU-

MI- :-[ NOT HETALIA. Yeesh. I thought it was cute. The CRYSTAL. Like Hell I'm calling him Crystal, though, that's a girl name. And I'm sure not calling him Kris. Either I think of Santa or Chris Griffin from Family Guy, and neither of those are him either.

LL- .../:-[ Please shut up.

MI- Would you prefer Spar-kun? I'd call him Spartacus, but not only would I be going to Pun Hell, but the name then becomes so nondescript that- Holy crap. It's so close it just might work as a name.

LL- I swear to God, you make a 300 reference, I kill you.

MI- *points to transcripts* Er, yeeeeeah, please don't. You said it, not me.

LL- |:-[ ...Touche, my friend. Touché.

MI- I'll do what I can when I can find some more episodes. Chances are I'm going to have to watch over you so this doesn't happen again. I got an idea- I'll meet you over there tomorrow.

LL- I thought you couldn't skip dimensions from your world, or risk Mary Sue-dom?

MI- You thought wrong. Otherwise why is Stephen King in every world he makes as the useless extra that's never noticed except for the fact that it's him?

* * *

It was as soon as they reached the door to Logga's house that they realized that the moon was quickly descending from the sky.

_Within minutes, the whole town was asleep, suspended in the non-REM sleep where there was no dreaming or awareness. Things were reset, rewound as simply as winding back a clock for daylight savings time. People sleepwalked to their respective places. One who was watching from the outside would think they were watching Magnus and the other actors between takes, moving from one scene to the next without pause. And perhaps that was the purpose of this dreaming skerry. Perhaps it was for people to watch from the outside, never interacting, never taking part._

_It was much the same reason that most things came to exist when written about- The author has a thought, perhaps caused by such a world, and seemingly writes it into existence, defining its existence. Those in the same world as the author would believe the author created the world. Those being written into existence would believe that the other wrote about them only after they came to exist, naturally._

_The truth is that their existence defines each other. That is the malleable nature and illusion that is Time. Time exists all at once, the illusion of a past, present, and future only breaks up time into edible chunks for the fragile human mind to process. For those who understand the true nature of time, it becomes irrelevant._

_This is such as what is written in Destiny's book, has been written in Destiny's book, will ALWAYS be written in Destiny's book. That is why nobody else is allowed to read Destiny's book, save for those followers of Destiny, similar to the Suicidal- followers of Death, the Dreamers- followers of Dream, the Lovers that follow Desire and the Depressed that follow Despair, Tyrants of War that follow Destruction, and the Mad- followers of Delirium._

_Every page is the same page. Every word is the same word. Every letter, every stroke of a pen, every character. All a simple singularity defining the ultimate meaning of the universe. The beginning, middle, and end, all condensed into a singularity, breathing new meaning into life, explaining everything at once and yet nothing. Those that can understand this language are sometimes called Time lords, other times known simply as strange individuals who act outside of time, living on the gentle flotsam of the outskirts of reality, interfering only at key events to make sure they happen always the same._

_But their nature is their own, and their own destiny is not written in the book of Destiny, for letting them know their own destiny would destroy the concept of free will. Neither is the destiny of the rest of the bloodline of the Endless until it has happened, else Destiny himself try to interfere._

_This is how Delight became Delirium. Merely from reading the book of Destiny._

Skripture looked up from his own book, something he had picked up for his own interest, another book that was similar in malleability to Destiny's book in its fluctuating text. It was titled "The Prince and the Raven", and it seemed to be written in a couple of different languages at the same time. Depending on his mood, sometimes it was written in Japanese, upon which he would have to flip the entire book around and start from the back, which would irritate him because it reminded him of the Death Note, sometimes it was written in English, in which case most of its romanticism was lost, sometimes it was in French, and other times it took what seemed to be its originally-intended German language.

It wasn't apparent whether the book belonged to him or not. He just found it one night, when the red sun had flickered so low that old stars burned brightly in the sky, and a mist had taken hold of the desert-like world.

What caught his attention now was a sound that chilled him to his very core, had caused the little cogs in the clock- that sank into his chest and protected his heart, or in other opinions, exposed it- to run haywire until the hands hung limply towards the bottom, towards the number 6 at the bottom and trembled there weakly as he ran towards the source, book in tow.

Destiny was trembling, curled over his book in an almost fetal position, knees drawn to the book which pressed the book tighter to his chest, veins standing out in his hands as he gripped the book to himself tightly, his head hung over it. The old leather was becoming stained with tears. Skripture wrapped an arm around him tightly, placing the now-German book on the ground as he tried to pry the book back gently enough to read what was the problem.

'Merely from reading the book of Destiny...' Skript swallowed hard. No wonder. Destiny was blaming himself. He frowned, knowing that at this point, Tree would probably be writing in the book. This was upsetting. She was overstepping her bounds and wearing out her welcome, and he was going to have to draw the line somewhere. So he pulled out a pen, and it was decided that she was only a minor character from now on, less than a footnote in the story.

Knowing her, she had planned this all along.

Destiny spent the time still quivering slightly, drying the sadness from his face, attempting to compose himself. It was slightly startling, the feeling of being pulled into a hug, and he looked at the younger, more foreign version of himself as if the envoy had gone mad. The words 'looked at' being accurate because they shared vision in an odd standoff. On some deeper level, he knew he wouldn't be able to write in his own book, that it was impossible for him to do so, and without Skripture, he would probably have let his grief consume him until there was nothing left, and the Time Lords would be left without a path, without guidelines, without order. So this was just what he needed.

At least, he managed to tell himself that until Skripture had pressed their lips together. That scared him. Skripture ended up getting the full weight of the book of Destiny smashed across the good side of his face, the side NOT missing an eye, and the envoy scurried off muttering fearful apologies.

It was then that Destiny paid a visit to Desire, suspicious.

Desire sat upon a chaise lounge, examining a bowl of cherries with judicious interest. "I'm busy," It spoke, pursing its lips and bringing a Black Tartarian to them, looking amongst the other types of cherries in the bowl. "Can't decide who the Librarian goes well with. This better be important, or I'm likely to be in a bad mood."

Destiny looked at his brother-sister as if the thing had just done something repulsive. Well, he made the face one would expect from that in Desire's general direction, being blind. "You did something to Skripture." He demanded in all capital letters on his chalkboard, and seeing this caused Desire to choke on the pit of the cherry, swallowing the entire thing, stem and all.

"What in the world does THAT mean? Am I supposed to understand your poor grammar? If you're talking about your stupid book, I didn't write in it. That green tart, the feline one, does things like that. Her own whim, not my cause. She stopped being mine since Egypt." Desire set the bowl of cherries on the floor, then made a small sound as if calling a kitten.

Destiny's face at this point looked something like this:

ƍ_ƍ

"...Skripture is a person. Did the encourage-able feline woman not place you in the same predicament?" Destiny raised an eyebrow as Desire squinted at the chalkboard its eldest brother had written on before looking under the lounge, trying to reach under it. "OH. You call yours Skripture? I don't know their names. I had one that I named Amber, but it died. Pity. Mine don't talk for some reason, or at least, I can't hear them." Grasping at a pink tuft of fur with a yellow belt of gold bells tightly clasped onto it, Desire tugged tightly to pull out something that looked like the Pink Panther. Well, _A_ pink panther. "There you are. I don't understand the point of having an envoy for a world made of chalk. I mean, the only use they have is that they can see things we miss."

"...I see. They all have mismatched eyes...Do you suppose that is of some importance? Perhaps this one is to blame...Skratch, is it?" he watched the feline nod quickly, looking away as if it was ashamed. "...I don't appreciate meddling in my affairs." This note earned him an angry glare from the pink cat, which pawed at the chalkboard in earnest, wanting to speak for itself.

"I don't do lust. I do soulmates. I do innocent love. My incompetent owner ruins everything for me. Truly a shame. You should take better care of my brother. He's very fragile. Especially when he has to see every single possible course of action from now until the end of time, instead of just reading decidedly permanent destinies through a moldy old book. If you need me, and you will, don't come looking for me. You obviously don't want my help. If you did want it, you wouldn't need it, because you'd already have it."

Destiny erased the words with a tinge of guilt. He replaced the words with: "Do not think that you are better than any of the Endless because of your powers. You hurt people a lot more than Desire does. Desire just bends people one way or the other, but you dig your claws right into a person's heart, and hold fast until you have torn it to shreds. Now, leave Skripture alone. He does not deserve such pain."

Roaming back to his own dimension, Destiny held fast to his chalkboard and book while Skratch looked up at Desire with mismatched eyes of mango juice and gold, and something akin to smugness.

"Skratch. Nice name. I guess he didn't need your help after all."

* * *

*More of the chapter below Author Notes*

\\_...Every beauty needs to go out with an idiot_

_How can you stand next to the truth and not see it?_

_Oh, a change of heart comes slow..._\\

* * *

Song: I'll Go Crazy If I Don't Go Crazy Tonight by U2

AUTHOR NOTES:

Yeah so I was reading the Wake again.

It was very, VERY sad and I imagine everyone would flip their lid if they found out he was still alive after all that sadness.

* * *

Sportacus woke up as he always did, to a beautiful day. There was only enough time for a drink of water as breakfast, though, for as soon as he finished the bottle, his crystal signaled that there was someone in some sort of trouble. He immediately jumped to the helm of his ship, sending the blimp speeding towards LazyTown, through clouds of fluffy white.

Flipping out of his ship and landing with his usual acrobatics, a couple of backflips later, he froze as he saw the problem.

There was no way the black and white kitten could have climbed the tree itself. Its claws were too tiny, for one, and the bark of the apple tree was not suitable for cat claws. Another problem was the height of the branch it was on, and with no nearby items for the black-and-white fluffball to jump up from, it was baffling as to how the kitten got there in the first place.

The adorable little kitten was very vocal, too, mewling again and again at him as if becoming acquainted with a long lost friend, begging for his attention and being generally conversational and excited despite its position. Sportacus flipped up onto the branch, barely hanging on to it, looking at the kitten with a bit of disdain for having claws that would make it easier for the cat to hold its grip. It meweled once more at him, cheering him on as he fumbled for a good arm hold, and once he found it, he scooped the kitten up right under the stomach.

The kitten was NOT pleased with this, and let out a meek, pained yowl of surprise. He landed, and the kitten complained again with another yowl, swinging its paws around in agitated circles. "You must be more careful next time..." He told the kitten, but it yelped consistently over his words even more, expressing its disdain over his kitten-handling methods and the obvious fact that it couldn't have put itself there, so the poor kitten could not be blamed.

He placed the kitten on the ground as it cried desperately, sounding very mournful and turning around to face its savior, who merely waved, said, "You're welcome," and dashed away, flipping over various ledges as the kitten cried once again for attention, watching him go.

The kitten stalked off towards Robbie's place, its tail twitching agitatedly.

_"He didn't even ask my name. How RUDE!"_


End file.
